The Story of Goethe's Life

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THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE

■■ r I.

TOR\ Oh GOETltES UYE.

hV

GroKG^ hT'^vY Li:\v : ..

{Abridged VhOM tus "Lue a:.u \vlr:;& of Gofthz.")

I

■■4

1665.

THE

STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE.

BY

GEORGE HENRY LEWES.

(Abridged from his *<Life and Works of Goethi.")
Eighth Edition,

BOSTON:

HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY.

New York: U East Seventeenth Street.

1885.

KE'E^t^-*^

UNIVERSITY
LIBRARY

PREFACE.

It has been represented to me, by my friend the publisher,
that there are many readers who may feel considerable inter-
est in the story of a great poet's life and aims, though they
are not greatly attracted by criticisms and details in relation
to works written in a foreign language and but partially acces-
sible through translations. In compliance with this sugges-
tion, I have detached from my Life of Goethe a continuous
narrative, which will present the outward events of an ever-
memorable career, and indicate the leading characteristics of
an immortal genius.

The present volume is in no sense intended to replace the
original Biography, which will probably continue to have the
greater interest for readers whose tastes and acquirements lie
in the direction of German literature.

The Pvory, November, 1872.

CONTENTS.

Pagb

Preface vii

BOOK THE FIRST.
1749 to 1765.

Chavtes.

I. Parentage. 11

II. The Precocious Child ... . • . • . 19

III. Various Studies 34

IV. The Child is Father. to the Man . • • . 42

BOOK THE SECOND.
1765 to 1771.

I. The Leipsic Student 46

II. Art Studies 53

III. HetiJrn Home . 58

IV. STRASBtJRG ' . ' . 61

V. Herder And Frederika • 74

BOOK THE THIRD.
1771 to 1775.

I. Dr. Goethe's RfcruRN 92

II. Wetzlar ... . 102

III. Preparations for Werther 115

IV. The Literary Lion 140

V. LiLi 147

X CONTENTS.

BOOK THE FOURTH,
1775 to 1779.

I. Weimar in the Eighteenth Centuky . • • .156
I II. The First Wild Weeks at Weimar .... 177

III. The Frau von Stein 192

IV. Private Theatricals . • 199

V. Many-colored Threads 206

VI. The Real Philanthropist 214

BOOK THE FIFTH.
1779 to 1793.

I. New Birth 231

II. Preparations for Italy •...•• 247

III. Italy 255

IV. Return Home 262

V. Christians Vulpius 269

VI. The Poet as a Man of Science .... 275

VII. The Campaign in France 319

BOOK THE SIXTH.
1794 to 1805.

I. Goethe and Schiller 323

II. The Romantic School 338

III. Schiller's Last Years 344

BOOK THE SEVENTH.
1805 to 1832.

I. The Battle of Jena . 355

II. Goethe's Wife 360

III. Bettina and Napoleon 364

IV. Politics and Religion 376

V. The Activity of Age 386

VI. The Closing Scenes 395

THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE

BOOK THE FIRST.

1749 TO 1765.

CHAPTER I.

PARENTAGE.

QuiNTtrs CtJRTius tells us that, in certain seasons, Bactria
was darkened by whirlwinds of dust, which completely
covered and concealed the roads. Left thus without their
usual landmarks, the wanderers awaited the rising of the
stars, —

** To light them on their dim and perilous way."

May we not say the same of Literature? From time to
time its pathways are so obscured beneath the rubbish of the
age, that many a footsore pilgrim seeks in vain the hidden
route. In such times it may be well to imitate the Bactri-
ans : ceasing to look upon the confusions of the day, and
turning our gaze upon the great Immortals who have gone
before, we may seek guidance from their light. In all ages
the biographies of great men have been fruitful in lessons ;
in all ages they have been powerful stimulants to a noble
ambition ; in all ages they have been regarded as armories
wherein are gathered the weapons with which great battles
have been won.

12 THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book l

There may be some among my readers who will dispute
Goethe's claim to greatness. They will admit that he was
a great poet, but deny that he was a great man. In deny-
ing it, they will set forth the qualities which constitute their
ideal of greatness, and finding him deficient in some of these
qualities, will dispute his claim. But in awarding him that
title, I do not mean to imply that he was an ideal man ; I
do not present him as the exemplar of all greatness. No
man can be such an exemplar. Humanity reveals itself in
fragments. One man is the embodiment of one kind of
excellence, another of another. Achilles wins the victory,
and Homer immortalizes it; we bestow the laurel crown
on both. In virtue of a genius such as modem times have
only seen equalled once or twice, Goethe deserves the epithet
of great. Nor is it in virtue of genius alone that he deserves
the title. Merck said of him that what he lived was more
beautiful than what he wrote; and his life, amid all its
weaknesses and all its errors, presents a picture of a certain
grandeur of soul, which cannot be contemplated unmoved.
I shall make no attempt to conceal his faults. Let them be
dealt with as harshly as severest justice may dictate, they
will not eclipse the central light that shines throughout
his life. And without wishing to excuse or to conceal
faults which he assuredly had, we must always bear in mind
that the faults of a celebrated man are apt to carry an undue
emphasis : they are thrown into stronger relief by the very
splendor of his fame. Had Goethe never written Fausty no
one would have heard that he was an inconstant lover, and
a tepid politician. His glory immortalized his shame.

In the middle of the seventeenth century the little town
of Artern, in the Grafschaft of Mansfeld, in Thuringia, num-
bered among its scanty inhabitants a farrier, by name Hans
Christian Goethe. His son Frederick, being probably of a

1 749.] PARENTA GE, 1 3

more meditative turn, selected a more meditative employment
than that of shoeing horses : he became a tailor. Having
passed an apprenticeship, he commenced his wanderings, in the
course of which he reached Frankfurt. Here he soon found
employment, and being, as we learn, " a ladies' man," he soon
also found a wife. The master tailor, Sebastian Lutz, gave
him his daughter on his admission to the citizenship of Frank-
furt and to the guild of tailors. This was in 1687. Several
children were bom, and vanished ; in 1700 his wife, too, van-
ished, to be replaced, five years afterwards, by Frau Cornelia
Schellhom, the daughter of another tailor, Georg Walter ; she
was then a widow, blooming with six-and-thirty summers, and
possessing the solid attractions of a good property, namely,
the hotel " Zum Weidenhof," where her new husband laid
down the scissors, and donned the landlord's apron. He
had two sons by her, and died in 1730, aged seventy-three.

Of these two sons, the younger, Johann Caspar, was the
father of our poet. Thus we see that Goethe, like Schiller,
sprang from the people. He makes no mention of the lucky
tailor, nor of the Thuringian farrier, in his autobiography.
This silence may be variously interpreted. At first, I im-
agined it was aristocratic prudery on the part of von Goethe,
minister and nobleman ; but it is never well to put ungen-
erous constructions, when others, equally plausible and more
honorable, are ready ; let us rather follow the advice of Sir
Arthur Helps, and " employ our imagination in the service of
charity." We can easily imagine that Goethe was silent about
the tailor, because, having never known him, there was none
of that affectionate remembrance which encircles the objects
of early life, to make this grandfather figure in the autobiog-
raphy beside the grandfather Textor, who was known and
loved. Probably, also, the tailor was seldom talked of in the
parental circle. There is a peculiar and indelible ridicule

14 THE STORY OF GOETHE* S LIFE. [book i.

attached to the idea of a tailor in Germany, which often pre-
vents people of much humbler pretensions than Goethe from
whispering their connection with such a trade. Goethe does
mention this grandfather in the Second Book of his Autobi-
ography y and tells us how he was teased by the taunts of boys
respecting his humble parentage ; these taunts even went so
far as to imply that he might possibly have had several grand-
fathers j and he began to speculate on the possibility of some
latent aristocracy in his descent This made him examine
with some curiosity the portraits of noblemen, to try and de-
tect a likeness.

Johann Caspar Goethe received a good education, trav-
elled into Italy, became an imperial councillor in Frankfurt,
and married, in 1748, Katharina Elizabeth, daughter of
Johann Wolfgang Textor, the chief magistrate {SchuWidss)*

Goethe's father was a cold, stem, formal, somewhat pedan-
tic, but truth-loving, upright-minded man. He hungered for
knowledge ; and, although in general of a laconic turn, freely
imparted all he learned. In his domestic circle his word was
law. Not only imperious, but in some respects capricious, he
was, nevertheless, greatly respected, if little loved, by wife,
children, and friends. He is characterized by Krause as ein
geradliniger Frankfurter Reichsburger^ — "a formal Frankfurt
citizen," whose habits were as measured as his gaitf From

* The family of Textor and Weber exist to this day, and under both
names, in the Hohenlohe territory. Karl Julius Weber, the humorous
author of Democritus and of the Briefe eines in Deutsckland reisenden
Deutscheity was a member of it. In the description of the Jubilaum of
the Niirnberg University of Altorf, in 1723, mention is made of one
Joannes Guolfgangus Textor as a bygone ornament of the faculty of law ;
and Mr. Demmler, to whom I am indebted for these particulars, suggests
the probability of this being the same John Wolfgang who died as Ober-
biirgermeister in Frankfurt, 1701.

1 Perhaps gercuUiniger might be translated as ** an old square-toes,"

1749-1 PARENTAGE. 1 5

him the poet inherited the well-built frame, the erect carriage,
and the measured movement which in old age became stiff-
ness, and was construed as diplomacy or haughtiness ; from
him also came that orderliness and stoicism which have so
much distressed those who cannot conceive genius otherwise
than as vagabond in its habits. The craving for knowledge,
the delight in communicating it, the almost pedantic attention
to details, which are noticeable in the poet, are all traceable
in the father.

The mother was more like what we conceive as the proper
parent for a poet. She is one of the pleasantest figures in
German literature, and one standing out with greater vivid-
ness than almost any other. Her simple, hearty, joyous, and
affectionate nature endeared her to all. She was the delight
of children, the favorite of poets and princes. To the last
retaining her enthusiasm and simplicity, mingled with great
shrewdness and knowledge of character, Frau Aja^ as they
christened her, was at once grave and hearty, dignified and
simple. She had read most of the best German and Italian
authors, had picked up considerable desultory information,
and had that " mother wit " which so often in women and
poets seems to render culture superfluous, their rapid intui-
tions anticipating the tardy conclusions of experience. Her
letters are full of spirit : not always strictly granmiatical ; not
irreproachable in spelling ; but vigorous and vivacious. Af-
ter a lengthened interview with her, an enthusiast exclaimed,
" Now do I understand how Goethe has become the man he
is I '* * Wieland, Merck, Burger, Madame de Stael, Karl Au-

having reference to the antiquated cut of the old man's clothes. The
£Eithers of the present generation dubbed the stiff coat of their grand-
fathers, with its square skirts and collars, by the name of tnagister nia-
theseoSf the name by which the Pythagorean proposition is known in
Germany.
* Ephemeriden der Literature quoted in Nicolovius uber Goethe.

1 6 THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE, [book i.

gust, and other great people sought her acquaintance. The
Duchess Amalia corresponded with her as with an intimate
friend ; and her letters were welcomed eagerly at the Weimar
Court. She was married at seventeen to a man for whom
she had no love, and was only eighteen when the poet was
born.* This, instead of making her prematurely old, seems
to have perpetuated her girlhood. " I and my Wolfgang,"
she said, " have always held fast to each other, because we
were both young together." To him she transmitted her love
of story-telling, her animal spirits, her love of everything
which bore the stamp of distinctive individuality, and her
love of seeing happy faces around her. " Order and quiet,"
she says in one of her charming letters to Freiherr von Stein,
" are my principal characteristics. Hence I despatch at once
whatever I have to do, the most disagreeable always first, and
I gulp down the devil without looking at him. When all has
returned to its proper state, then I defy any one to surpass
me in good-humor." Her heartiness and tolerance are the
causes, she thinks, why every one likes her. " I am fond of
people, and that every one feels directly, young and old. I
pass without pretension through the world, and that gratifies
men. I never hemoralize any one, — always seek out the good
that is in them^ and leave what is bad to him who made man-
kind, and knows how to round off the angles. In this way I
make myself happy and comfortable." Who does not recog-
nize the son in those accents > One of the kindliest of men
inherited his loving happy nature from one of the heartiest of
women.

He also inherited from her his dislike of unnecessary
emotion : that deliberate avoidance of all things capable of
disturbing his peace of mind, which has been construed as

* Lovers of parallels may be reminded that Napoleon's mother was
only eighteen when he was born.

1749-1 PARENTAGE, 1 7

coldness. Her sunny nature shrank from storms. She
stipulated with her servants that they were not to trouble
her with afflicting news, except upon some positive necessity
for the communication. In 1805, when her son was danger-
ously ill at Weimar, no one ventured to speak to her on the
subject. Not until he had completely recovered did she
voluntarily enter on it "I knew it all," she remarked,
" but said nothing. Now we can talk about him without my
feeling a stab every time his name is mentioned."

In this voluntary insulation from disastrous intelligence
there is something so antagonistic to the notorious craving
for excitement felt by the Teutonic races, something so unlike
the morbid love of intellectual drams, — the fierce alcohol of
emotion with which we intoxicate ourselves, — that it is no
wonder if Goethe has on this account been accused of insen-
sibility. Yet, in truth, a very superficial knowledge of his
nature suffices to show that it was not from coldness he
avoided indulgence in the " luxury of woe." It was excess
of sensibility, not want of S3rmpathy. His delicate nature
shrank from the wear and tear of excitement That which
to coarser natures would have been only a stimulus, was to
him a disturbance. It is doubtless the instinct of an emo-
tional nature to seek such stimulants ; but his reason was
strong enough to keep this instinct under control. Falk
relates that when Goethe heard he had looked upon Wieland
in death, " and thereby procured myself a miserable evening,
and worse night, he vehemently reproved me for it. * Why,'
said he, 'should I suffer the delightful impression of the
features of my friend to be obliterated by the sight of a dis-
figured mask ? I carefully avoided seeing Schiller, Herder,
or the Duchess Amalia in the coffin. I, for my part, desire
to retain in my memory a picture of my departed friends
more full of soul than the mere mask can furnish me.' "

B

l8 THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE, [book i.

This subjection of the instinct of curiosity to the dictates
of reason is not coldness. There is danger, indeed, of carry-
ing it too far, and of coddling the mind ; but into this extreme
neither Goethe nor his mother can be said to have fallen.
At any rate, let the reader pronounce what judgment he
thinks fit, it is right that he should at the outset distinctly
understand it to be a characteristic of the man. The self-
mastery it implies forms the keystone of his character. In
him the emotive was subjected to the intellectual. He was
" king over himself." He, as he tells us, found men eager
enough to lord it over others, while indifferent whether they
could rule themselves —

** Das wollen alle Herren seyn,
Und keiner ist Herr von sich ! "

He made it his study to subdue into harmonious unity the
rebellious impulses which incessantly threatened the suprem-
acy of reason. Here, on the threshold of his career, let
attention be called to this cardinal characteristic : his foot-
steps were not guided by a light tremulous in every gust,
liable to fall to the ground amid the hurrying, agitation of
vulgar instincts, but a torch grasped by an iron will, and
lifted high above the currents of those lower gusts, shedding
a continuous steady gleam across the path. I do not say he
never stumbled. At times the clamorous agitation of rebel-
lious passions misled him as it misleads others ; but viewing
his life as it disposes itself into the broad masses necessary
for a characteristic appreciation, I say that in him, more than
in almost any other man of his time, naked vigor of resolu-
tion, moving in alliance with steady clearness of intellect,
produced a self-mastery of the very highest kind.*

* " All I have had to do I have done in kingly fashion," he said ; " I
let tongues wag as they pleased. What I saw to be the right thing, that
I did."

I755-] THE PRECOCIOUS CHILD, 19

This he owed partly to his father and partly to his mother.
It was from the latter he derived those characteristics which
determined the movement and orbit of his artistic nature;
her joyous, healthy temperament, humor, fancy, and suscep-
tibility were, in him, creative, owing to the marvellous insight
which gathered up the scattered and vanishing elements of
experience into new and living combinations.

CHAPTER 11.

THE PRECOCIOUS CHILD.

JoHANN Wolfgang Goethe was bom on the 28th Au.
gust, 1749, as the clock sounded the hour of noon, in th6
busy town of Frankfurt-on-the-Maine. The busy town, as
may be supposed, was quite heedless of what was then pass-
ing in the comer of that low, heavy-beamed room in the
Grosse Hirsch-graben^ where an infant, black, and almost life-
less, was watched with agonizing anxiety, — an anxiety dis-
solving into tears of joy, as the aged grandmother exclaimed
to the pale mother, " Rdihin er lebt / he lives ! "

It is not the biographer's province to write a history of an
epoch while telling the story of a life ; but some historical
indication is necessary, in order that the time and place
should be vividly before the reader's mind ; and perhaps the
readiest way to call up such a picture in a paragraph will be to
mention some of the " notables " of that period, and at what
points in their career they had arrived. In that very month
of August, Madame du Chatelet, the leamed translator of
Newton, the loving but hot-tempered Uranie of Voltaire, died
in childbed, leaving him without a companion, and without a

20 THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE, [book i.

counsellor to prevent his going to the court of Frederick the
Great. In that year Rousseau was seen in the brilliant circle
of Madame d'Epinay, disputing with the Encyclopedists, de-
claiming eloquently on the sacredness of maternity, and
going home to cast his new-born infant into the basket of the
Foundling Hospital. In that year Samuel Johnson was toil-
ing manfully over his English dictionary; Gibbon was at
Westminster, trying with unsuccessful diligence to master the
Greek and Latin rudiments ; Goldsmith was delighting the
Tony Lumpkins of his district, and the "wandering bear-
leaders of genteeler sort," with his talents, and enjoying that
"careless idleness of fireside and easy-chair," and that
" tavern excitement of the game of cards to which he looked
back so wistfully from his first hard London struggles." In
that year Buffon, whose scientific greatness Goethe was one^
of the first to perceive, produced the first volume of his His-
toire Naturelle, Haller was at Gottingen performing those
experiments on Sensibility and Irritability which were to im-
mortalize him. John Hunter, who had recently left Scotland,
joined Cheselden at the Chelsea Hospital. Mirabeau and
Alfieri were tyrants in their nurseries; and Marat was an
innocent boy of five years old, toddling about in the Val de
Travers, unmolested as yet by the wickedness of " les aristo-
crats."

If these names have helped to call up the period, we must
seek in Goethe's own pages for a picture of the place. He
has painted the city of Frankfurt as one who loved it. No
city in Germany was better fitted for the birthplace of this
cosmopolitan poet. It was rich in speaking memorials of
the past, remnants of old German life, lingering echoes of
the voices which sounded through the Middle Ages : such as
a town within a town, the fortress within a fortress, the walled
cloisters, the various symbolical ceremonies still preserved

1755] ^-^^ PRECOCIOUS CHILD. 2 1

from feudal times, and the Jews' quarter, so picturesque,
filthy, and strikingly significant. But if Frankfurt was rep-
resentative of the past, it was equally representative of the
present. The travellers brought there by the Rhine-stream,
and by the great northern roads, made it a representative of
Europe, and an emporium of Commerce. It was thus a cen-
tre for that distinctively modern idea, Industrialism, which
began, and must complete, the destruction of Feudalism.
This twofold character Frankfurt retains to the present day :
the storks, perched upon its ancient gables, look down upon
the varied bustle of Fairs held by modem Commerce in the
ancient streets.

The feeling for antiquity, and especially for old German
life, which his native city would thus picturesquely cultivate,
was rivalled by a feeling for Italy and its splendors, which
was cultivated under the paternal roof. His father had lived
in Italy, and had retained an inextinguishable delight in all
its beauties. His walls were hung with architectural drawings
and views of Rome ; and the poet was thus familiar from
infancy with the Piazza del Popolo, St. Peter's, the Coliseum,
and other centres of grand associations. Typical of his own
nature and strivings is this conjunction of the Classic and the
German, — the one l)dng nearest to him, in homely intimacy,
the other l)dng outside, as a mere scene he was to contem-
plate.

Thus much on time and place, the two cardinal conditions
of life. Before quitting such generalities for the details of
biography, it may be well to call attention to one hitherto
unnoticed, namely, the moderate elevation of his social status.
Placed midway between the two perilous extremes of afflu-
ence and want, his whole career received a modifying impulse
from this position. He never knew adversity. This alone
must necessarily have deprived him of one powerful chord

22 THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE, [book i.

which vibrates through Literature. Adversity, the sternest
of teachers, had nothing to teach him. He never knew the
gaunt companionship of Want, whispering terrible sugges-
tions. He never knew the necessity to conquer for himself
breathing-room in the world ; and thus all the feelings of bit-
terness, opposition, and defiance, which accompany and per-
plex the struggle of life, were to him almost unknown ; and
he was taught nothing of the aggressive and practical energy
which these feelings develop in impetuous natures. How
much of his serenity, how much of his dislike to politics, may
be traced to this origin ?

That he was the loveliest baby ever seen, exciting admira-
tion wherever nurse or mother carried him, and exhibiting, in
swaddling-clothes, the most wonderful intelligence, we need
no biographer to tell us. Is it not said of every baby ? But
that he was in truth a wonderful child we have undeniable
evidence, and of a kind less questionable than the statement
of mothers and relatives. At three years old he could seldom
be brought to play with little children, and only on the condi-
tion of their being pretty. One day, in a neighbor's house,
he suddenly began to cry and exclaim, " That black child
must go away ! I can't bear him ! " And he howled till he
was carried home, where he was slowly pacified ; the whoie
cause of his grief being the ugliness of the child.

A quick, merry little girl grew up by the bo/s side. Four
other children also came, but soon vanished. Cornelia was
the only companion who survived, and for her his affection
dated from her cradle. He brought his toys to her, wanted
to feed her and attend on her, and was very jealous of all
who approached her. "When she was taken from the cradle,
over which he watched, his anger was scarcely to be quieted.
He was altogether much more easily moved to anger than to
tears."

1755-1 ^^^ PRECOCIOUS CHILD. 23

In old German towns, Frankfurt among them, the ground-
floor consists of a great hall where the vehicles are housed.
This floor opens in folding trap-doors, for the passage of wine-
casks into the cellars below. In one comer of the hall there
is a sort of lattice, opening by an iron or wooden grating
upon the street This is called the Gerams, Here the crock-
ery in daily use was kept ; here the servants peeled their
potatoes, and cut their carrots and turnips, preparatory to
cooking ; here also the housewife would sit with her sewing,
or her knitting, giving an eye to what passed in the street
(when anything did pass there) and an ear to a little neigh-
borly gossip. Such a place was of course a favorite with the
children.

One fine afternoon, when the house was quiet. Master
Wolfgang, with his cup in his hand and nothing to do, finds
himself in this Gerams^ looking out into the silent street, and
telegraphing to the young Ochsensteins who dwelt opposite.
By way of doing something he begins to fling the crockery
into the street, delighted at the smashing music which it
makes, and stimulated by the approbation of the brothers
Ochsenstein, who chuckle at him from over the way. The
plates and dishes are flying in this way, when his mother
returns : she sees the mischief with a housewifely horror,
melting into girlish sympathy, as she hears how heartily the
little fellow laughs at his escapade, and how the neighbors
laugh at him.

This genial, indulgent mother employed her faculty for
story-telling to his and her own delight. " Air, fire, earth,
and water I represented under the forms of princesses ; and
to all natural phenomena I gave a meaning, in which I
almost believed more fervently than my little hearers. As we
thought of paths which led from star to star, and that we
should one day inhabit the stars, and thought of the great

24 ^-^^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book i.

spirits we should meet there, I was as eager for the hours of
story-telling as the children themselves ; I was quite curious
about the future course of my own improvisation, and any
invitation which interrupted these evenings was disagreeable.
There I sat, and there Wolfgang held me with his large black
eyes ; and when the fate of one of his favorites was not
according to his fancy, I saw the angry veins swell on his
temples, I saw him repress his tears. He often burst in with,
* But, mother, the princess won*t marry the nasty tailor, even
if he does kill the giant.' And when I made a pause for the
night, promising to continue it on the morrow, I was certain
that he would in the mean while think it out for himself, and
so he often stimulated my imagination. When I turned the
story according to his plan, and told him that he had found
out the dinouemenif then was he all fire and flame, and one
could see his little heart beating underneath his dress ! His
grandmother, who made a great pet of him, was the confidante
of all his ideas as to how the story would turn out ; and as
she repeated these to me, and I turned the story according
to these hints, there was a little diplomatic secrecy between
us, which we never disclosed. I had the pleasure of contin-
uing my story to the delight and astonishment of my hearers,
and Wolfgang saw with glowing eyes the fulfilment of his own
conceptions, and listened with enthusiastic applause." What
a charming glimpse of mother and son !

The grandmother here spoken of lived in the same house,
and when lessons were finished, away the children hurried to
her room, to play. The dear old lady, proud as a grand-
mother, " spoiled " them of course, and gave them many an
eatable, which they would get only in her room. But of all
her gifts nothing was comparable to the puppet-show with
which she surprised them on the Christmas eve of 1753, and
which Goethe says "created a new world in the house."

I755J THE PRECOCIOUS CHILD. 2$

The reader of Wilhelm Meister will remember with what
solemn importance the significance of such a puppet-show is
treated, and may guess how it would exercise the boy's
imagination.

There was also the grandfather Textor, whose house the
children gladly visited, and whose grave personality produced
an impression on the boy, all the deeper because a certain
mysterious awe surrounded the moftosyllabic dream-interpret-
ing old gentleman. His portrait presents him in 2Lperruque d
huit iiages^ with the heavy golden chain round his neck, sus-
pending a medal given him by the Empress Maria Theresa ;
but Goethe remembered him more vividly in his dressing-
gown and slippers, moving amid the flowers of his garden,
weeding, training, watering ; or seated at the dinner-table
where on Sundays he received his guests.

The mother's admirable method of cultivating the inventive
activity of the boy, finds its pendant in the father's method
of cultivating his receptive faculties. He speaks with less
approbation than it deserved of his father's idea of educa-
tion : probably because late in life he felt keenly his defi-
ciencies in systematic training. But the principle upon which
the father proceeded was an excellent one, namely, that of
exercising the intellect rather than the memory. An anec-
dote was dictated, generally something from every-day life,
or perhaps a trait from the life of Frederick the Great ; on
this the boy wrote dialogues and moral reflections in Latin
and German. Some of these have been preserved and pub-
lished ; a glance at them shows what a mastery over Latin
was achieved in his eighth year. We can never be quite cer-
tain that the hand of the master is not mingled with that of
the child ; but the very method of independence which the
master throughout pursued is contrary to a supposition of his
improving the exercises, although the style is certainly above

26 THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE, [book i.

what even advanced pupils usually achieve. Dr. Wisemann
of Frankfurt, to whom we are indebted for these exercises
and compositions, written during Goethe's sixth, seventh, and
eighth years, thinks there can be no doubt of their being the
unassisted productions of the boy. In one of the dialogues
there is a pun which proves that the dialogue was written in
Latin first, and then translated into German. It is this : the
child is making wax figures, his father asks him why he does
not relinquish such trivialities. The word used is nuces^
which, meaning trivialities in a metaphorical sense, is by the
boy wilfully interpreted in its ordinary sense, as nuts — " cera
nunc ludo non nucibus^ — "I play with wax, not with nuts."
The German word niisse means nuts simply, and has no meta-
phorical meaning.

His progress in Greek was remarkable, as may be seen
from his published exercises. Italian he learned by listening
to his father teaching Cornelia. He pretended to be occu-
pied with his own lesson, and caught up all that was said.
French, too, he learned, as the exercises testify; and thus
before he is eight, we find him writing German, French,
Italian, Latin, and Greek.

He was, in fact, a precocious child. This will probably
startle many readers, especially if they have adopted the cur-
rent notion that precocity is a sign of disease, and that mar-
vellous children are necessarily evanescent fruits which never
ripen, early blossoms which wither early. Observatum fere
est celerius occidere festinatam maturitatem^ says Quintilian, in
the mournful passage which records the loss of his darling
son ; and many a proud parent has seen his hopes frustrated
by early death, or by matured mediocrity following the
brilliant promise. It may help to do away with some confu-
sion on this subject, if we bear in mind that men distinguish
themselves by receptive capacity and by productive capacity \

1755] THE PRECOCIOUS CHILD, 27

they learn, and they invent. In men of the highest class
these two qualities are united. Shakespeare and Goethe are
not less remarkable for the variety of their knowledge, than
for the activity of their invention. But as we call the child
clever who learns his lessons rapidly, and the child clever
who shows wit, sagacity, and invention, this ambiguity of
phrase has led to surprise when the child who was "so
clever" at school, turns out a mediocre man ; or, conversely,
when the child who was a dunce at school turns out a man
of genius. Goethe's precocity was nothing abnormal. It
was the activity of a mind at once greatly receptive and
greatly productive.

Other boys, besides Goethe, heard the Lisbon earthquake
eagerly discussed ; but they had not their religious doubts
awakened by it, as his were awakened in his sixth year.
This catastrophe, which, in 1755, spread consternation over
Europe, he has described as having greatly perturbed him.
The narratives he heard of a magnificent capital suddenly
smitten — churches, houses, towers falling with a crash,
the bursting land vomiting flames and smoke, and sixty
thousand souls perishing in an instant — shook his faith
in the beneficence of Providence. " God, the creator and
preserver of heaven and earth," he says, " whom the first
article of our creed declared to be so wise and benignant,
had not displayed paternal care in thus consigning * both
the just and the unjust to the same destruction. In vain
my young mind strove to resist these impressions. It was
impossible ; the more so as the wise and religious them-
selves could not agree upon the view to be taken of the
event"

We are not, however, to suppose that the child rushed has-
tily to such a conclusion. He debated it in his own mind as
he heard it debated around him. Bettina records that on
2

28 THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE, [book i.

his coming one day from church, where he had listened to a
sermon on the subject, in which God's goodness was justi-
fied, his father asked him what impression the sermon had
made. " Why,*' said he, *' it may after all be a much simpler
matter than the clergyman thinks ; God knows very well
that an immortal soul can receive no injury from a mortal
accident."

Doubts once raised would of course recur, and the child
began to settle into a serious disbelief in the benignity of
Providence, learning to consider God as the wrathful Deity de-
picted by the Hebrews. This was strengthened by the foolish
conduct of those around him, who, on the occasion of a ter-
rible thunder-storm which shattered the windows, dragged
him and his sister into a dark passage, "where the whole
household, distracted with fear, tried to conciliate the angry
Deity by frightful groans and prayers."

The doubts which troubled Wolfgang gradually subsided.
In his family circle he was the silent reflective listener to
constant theological debates. The various sects separating
from the established church all seemed to be animated by
the one desire of approaching the Deity, especially through
Christ, more nearly than seemed possible through the ancient
forms. It occurred to him that he, also, might make such an
approach, and in a more direct way. Unable to ascribe a
form' to the Deity, he " resolved to seek him in his works,
and in the good old Bible fashion, to build an altar to him."
For this purpose he selected some types, such as ores and
other natural productions, and arranged them in symbolical
order on the elevations of a music-stand ; on the apex was
to be a flame typical of the soul's aspiration, and for this a
pastille did duty. Sunrise was awaited with impatience.
The glittering of the house-tops gave signal ; he applied
a burning-glass to the pastillci and thus was the worship con-

1756.1 THE PRECOCIOUS CHILD, 29

summated by a priest of seven years old, alone in his bed-
room ! *

Lest the trait just cited should make us forget that we are
tracing the career of a child, it may be well to recall the an-
ecdote related by Bettina, who had it from his mother ; it will
serve to set us right as to the childishness. One day his moth-
er, seeing him from her window cross the street with his com-
rades, was amused wich the gravity of his carriage, and asked
laughingly, if he meant thereby to distinguish himself from
his companions. The little fellow replied, '* I begin with this.
Later on in life I shall distinguish myself in far other ways."

On another occasion, he plagued her with questions as to
whether the stars would perform all they had promised at
his birth. " Why," said she, " must you have the assistance
of the stars, when other people get on very well without ? "
" I am not to be satisfied with what does for other people ! "
said the juvenile Jupiter.

He had just attained his seventh year when the Seven
Years* War broke out. His grandfather espoused the cause
of Austria, his father that of Frederick. This difference of
opinion brought with it contentions, and finally separation
between the families. The exploits of the Prussian army
were enthusiastically cited on the one side and depreciated
on the other. It was an all-absorbing topic, awakening pas*
sionate partisanship. Men looked with strange feelings on
the struggle which the greatest captain of his age was main>
taining against Russia, Austria, and France. The ruler of
not more than five millions of men was fighting unaided
against the rulers of more than a hundred millions ; and, in
spite of his alleged violation of honor, it was difficult to heat

* A similar anecdote is related of himself by that strange romancist,
once the idol of his day, and now almost entirely forgotten, Restif de la
Bretonne. See Les Illuminhy par Gerard de Nerval.

30

THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book i.

without enthusiasm of his brilliant exploits. Courage and
genius in desperate circumstances always awaken sympathy ;
and men paused not to ask what justification there was for
the seizure of Silesia, nor why the Saxon standards drooped
heavily in the churches of Berlin. The roar of victorious
cannon stunned the judgment ; the intrepid general was
blindly worshipped. The Seven Years' War soon became a
German epos. Archenholtz wrote its history (1791) ; and
this work — noisy with guard-room bragging and folly, the
rant of a miles gioriosus Xyixx\td philosophe — was nevertheless
received with enthusiasm, was translated into Latin, and read
in schools in company with Tacitus and Caesar.

This Seven Years* War was a circumstance from which, as
it is thought, Goethe ought to have received some epic in-
spiration. He received from it precisely that which was food
to his character. He caught the grand enthusiasm, but, as
he says, it was the personaliiy of the hero, rather than the
greatness of his cause, which made him rejoice in every vic-
tory, copy the songs of triumph, and the lampoons directed
against Austria. He learned now the effects of party spirit.
At the table of his grandfather he had to hear galling sar-
casms, and vehement declamations showered on his hero.
He heard Frederick "shamefully slandered." "And as in my
sixth year, after the Lisbon earthquake, I doubted the benefi-
cence of Providence, so now, on account of Frederick, I
began to doubt the justice of the world."

Over the doorway of the house in which he was bom were
a lyre and a star, announcing, as every interpreter will certify,
that a poet was to make that house illustrious. The poetic
faculty early manifested itself. We have seen him inventing
conclusions for his mother's stories ; and as he grew older,
he began to invent stories for the amusement of his play-
fellows, after he had filled his mind with images, —

1756. J THE PRECOCIOUS CHILD, 31

"Lone sitting on the shores of old Romance."
He had read the Orbis Pictus, Ovid's Metamorphoses^ Homer's
Jliad in prose, Virgil in the original, Telemachus^ Robinson
Crusoe^ Anson^s Voyages^ with such books as Fortunatus^ The
Wandering jfew^ The Four Sons of Aymon, etc. He also
read and learned by heart most of the poets of that day :
Gellert, Haller, who had really some gleams of poetry ; and
Canitz, Hagedorn, Drollinger, — writers then much beloved,
now slumbering upon dusty shelves, unvisited, except by an
occasional historian, and by spiders of an inquiring mind.

Not only did he tell stories, he wrote them also, as we
gather from a touching little anecdote preserved by Bettina.
The small-pox had carried off his little brother Jacob. To
the surprise of his mother, Wolfgang shed no tears, believing
Jacob to be with God in heaven. " Did you not love your
little brother, then," asked his mother, " that you do not
grieve for his loss ? " He ran to his room, and from under
the bed drew a quantity of papers on which he had written
stories and lessons. " All these I had written that I might
teach them to him," said the child. He was then nine years
old.

Shortly before the death of his brother he was startled by
the sound of the warder's trumpet from the chief tower,
announcing the approach of troops. This was in January,
1759* On came the troops in continuous masses, and the
rolling tumult of their drums called all the women to the
windows, and all the boys in admiring crowds into the
streets. The troops were French. They seized the guard-
house, and in a little while the city was a camp. To make
matters worse, these troops were at war with Frederick,
whom Wolfgang and his father worshipped. They were soon
billeted through the town, and things relapsed into their
usual routine, varied by a military occupation. In the

32 THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE, [book i.

Goethe-house an important person was quartered, — Count de
Thorane, the king's lieutenant, a man of taste and munifi-
cence, who assembled round him artists and celebrities, and
won the affectionate admiration of Wolfgang, though he
failed to overcome the hatred of the old councillor.

This occupation of Frankfurt brought with it many advan-
tages to Goethe. It relaxed the severity of paternal book ed-
ucation, and began another kind of tuition, — that of life and
manners. The perpetual marching through the streets, the
brilliant parades, the music, the " pomp, pride, and circum-
stance," were not without their influence. Moreover, he
now gained conversational familiarity with French,* and
acquaintance with the theatre. The French nation always
carries its "civilization" with it, — namely, a cafi and a
theatre. In Frankfurt both were immediately opened, and
Goethe was presented with a " free admission " to the theatre,
a privilege he used daily, not always understanding, but
always enjoying what he saw. In tragedy the measured
rhythm, slow utterance, and abstract language enabled him
to understand the scenes better than he understood comedy,
wherein the language, besides moving amid the details of
private life, was also more rapidly spoken. But, at the thea-
tre, boys are not critical, and do not need to understand a
play in order to enjoy it. A Racine^ found upon his father's
shelves, was eagerly studied, and the speeches were declaimed
with more or less appreciation of their meaning.

The theatre, and acquaintance with a chattering little brag-
gart, named Derones, gave him such familiarity with the lan-
guage, that in a month he surprised his parents with his
facility. This Derones was acquainted with the actors, and
introduced him " behind the scenes." At ten years of age to

* He says that he had never learned French before ; but this is errone-
ous, as his exercises prove.

I7S91 THE PRECOCIOUS CHILD. 33

go " behind the scenes " means a great deal. We shall see
hereafter how early he was introduced behind the scenes of
life. For the present let it be noted that he was a frequenter
of the green-room, and admitted into the dressing-room,
where the actors and actresses dressed and undressed with
philosophic disregard to appearances ; and this, from repeated
visits, he also learned to regard as quite natural.

A grotesque scene took place between these two boys.
Derones excelled, as he affirmed, in ** affairs of honor." He
had been engaged in several, and had always managed to
disarm his antagonist, and then nobly forgive him. One day
he pretended that Wolfgang had insulted him : satisfaction
was peremptorily demanded, and a duel was the result.
Imagine Wolfgang, aged twelve, arrayed in shoes and silver
buckles, fine woollen stockings, dark serge breeches, green
coat with gold facings, a waistcoat of gold cloth, cut out of
his father's wedding waistcoat, his hair curled and powdered,
his hat under his arm, and little sword, with silk sword-knot
This little manikin stands opposite his antagonist with the-
atrical formality \ swords clash, thrusts come quick upon each
other, the combat grows hot, when the point of Derones'
rapier lodges in the bow of Wolfgang's sword-knot; here-
upon the French boy, with great magnanimity, declares that
he is satisfied ! The two embrace, and retire to a cafi to re-
fresh themselves with a glass of almond milk.*

Theatrical ambition, which stirs us all, soon prompted
Wolfgang. As a child he had imitated Terence ; he was now
to make a more elaborate effort in the style of Piron. When
the play was completed he submitted it to Derones, who,
pointing out several grammatical blunders, promised to ex-
amine it more critically, and talked of giving it his support

* To remove incredulity, it may be well to remind the reader that to
this day German youths fight out their quarrels with swords, — not fists.

2* C

34 THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE, [book i.

with the manager. Wolfgang saw, in his mind's eye, the name
of his play already placarded at the corners of the street !
Unhappily, Derones in his critical capacity was merciless.
He picked the play to pieces, and stunned the poor author
with the critical jargon of that day ; proclaimed the absolute
integrity of the Three Unities, abused the English, laughed at
the Germans, and maintained the sovereignty of French taste
in so confident a style, that his listener was without a reply.
If silenced, however, he was not convinced. It set him to
thinking on those critical canons. He studied the treatise on
the Unities by Comeille, and the prefaces of Racine. The re-
sult of these studies was profound contempt for that system ;
and it is, perhaps, to Derones that we owe something of the
daring defiance of all " rule," which startled Germany in Gotz
von Berlichitigen,

CHAPTER HI.

VARIOUS STUDIES.

At length, June, 1761, the French quitted Frankfurt ; and
studies were seriously resumed. Mathematics, music, and
drawing were commenced under paternal superintendence.
For mathematics Wolfgang had no aptitude ; for music, little ;
he learned to play on the harpsichord, and subsequently on
the violoncello, but he never attained any proficiency. Draw-
ing continued through life a pleasant exercise.

Left now to the calm of uninterrupted studies, he made
gigantic strides. Even the hours of recreation were filled
with some useful occupation. He added English to his poly-
glot store ; and to keep up his several languages, he invented
a Romance, wherein six or seven brothers and sisters scat-

1761.] VARIOUS STUDIES. 35

tered over the world corresponded with each other. The
eldest describes in good German all the incidents of his
travels ; his sister answers in womanly style with short, sharp
sentences, and nothing but full stops, much as Siegwart was
afterwards written. Another brother studies theology, and
therefore writes in Latin, with postscripts in Greek. A third
and a fourth, clerks at Hamburg and Marseilles, take English
and French ; Italian is given to a musician ; while the young-
est, who remains at home, writes in Jew-German. This ro-
mance led him to a more accurate study of geography.
Having placed his characters in various parts of the globe, he
was not satisfied till he had a distinct idea of these localities,
so that the objects and events should be consonant with
probability. While trying to master the strange dialect, —
Jew-German, — he was led to the study of Hebrew. As the
original language of the Old Testament, this seemed to him
an indispensable acquisition. His father consented to give
him a Hebrew master ; and although he attained no scholar-
ship in that difficult language, yet the reading, translating,
and committing to memory of various parts of the Bible
brought out the meaning more vividly before him ; as every
one will understand who compares the lasting effect produced
by the laborious school-reading of Sallust and Livy with the
facile reading of Robertson and Hume. The Bible made a
profound impression upon him. To a boy of his constitutional
reflectiveness, the severe study of this book could not fail to
exercise a deep and permeating influence ; nor, at the same ^
time, in one so accustomed to think for himself, could it fail to
awaken certain doubts. "The contradiction," he says, "be-
tween the actual or possible, and tradition, forcibly arrested me.
I often posed my tutors with the sun standing still on Gibeon,
and the moon in the valley of Ajalon ; not to mention other
incongruities and impossibilities. All my doubts were now

36 THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE, Ibook i.

awakened, as in order to master the Hebrew I studied the
literal version by Schmidt, printed under the text."

One result of these Hebrew studies was a biblical poem on
Joseph and his Brethren ; which he dictated to a poor half-
idiot who lived in his father's house, and who had a mania
for copying or writing under dictation. Goethe soon found
the process of dictation of great service ; and through life it
continued to be his favorite mode of composition. All his
best thoughts and expressions, he says, came to him while
walking ; he could do nothing seated.

To these multifarious studies in Literature must be added
multifarious studies of Life. The old Frankfurt city, with its
busy crowds, its fairs, its mixed population, and its many
sources of excitement, offered great temptations, and great
pasture to so desultory a genius. This is perhaps a case where-
in Circumstance may be seen influencing the direction of
Character. A boy of less impressionable nature, of less many-
sided curiosity, would have lived in such a city undisturbed ;
some eyes would see little of the variety, some minds would
be unsolicited by the exciting objects. But Goethe's desultory,
because impulsive, nature found continual excitement in fresh
objects ; and he was thus led to study many things, to grasp
at many forms of life, instead of concentrating himself upon a
few. A large continuity of thought and effort was perhaps
radically uncongenial to such a temperament ; yet one can-
not help speculating whether under other circumstances he
might not have achieved it. Had he been reared in a quiet
little old German town, where he would have daily seen the
same faces in the silent streets, and come in contact with the
same characters, his culture might have been less various, but
it might perhaps have been deeper. Had he been reared in
the country, with only the changing seasons and the sweet
serenities of Nature to occupy his attention when released

1762.] VARIOUS STUDIES. 37

from study, he would certainly have been a different poet
The long summer afternoons spent in lonely rambles, the
deepening twilights filled with shadowy visions, the slow uni-
formity of his external life necessarily throwing him more and
more upon the more subtile diversities of inward experience,
would inevitably have influenced his genius in quite different
directions, would have animated his works with a very differ-
ent spirit. Yet who shall say that to him this would have
been all gain ? Who shall say that it would not have been a
loss ? For such an organization as his the life he led was
perhaps the very best. He was desultory, and the varieties
of objects which solicited his attention, while they helped to
encourage that tendency, also helped to nourish his mind
with images and experience, such as afterwards became the
richest material for his art.

The boy saw much of life, in both the lower and the
upper classes. He passed from the society of the Count de
Thorane, and of the artists whom the Count assembled round
him (from whom the boy learned something of the technical
details of painting), to the society of the Jews in the strange,
old, filthy, but deeply interesting Judengasse ; or to that of
various artisans, in whose shops his curiosity found perpetual
food. The Jews were doubly interesting to him : as social
pariahs, over whom there hovered a mingled mystery of ter-
ror and contempt ; and as descendants of the Chosen People,
who preserved the language, the opinions, and many of the
customs of the old Biblical race. He was impressed by their
adherence to old customs ; by their steadfastness and coura-
geous activity ; by their strange features and accents ; by
their bright cleverness and good-nature. The pretty Jewish
maidens also smiled agreeably upon him. He began to
mingle with them, managed to get permission to be present
at some of their ceremonies, and attended their schools.

38 THE STORY OF GOETHE* S LIFE. [book i.

As to artisans, he was all his life curious about their handi<>
crafts, and fond of being admitted into their family circles.
Scott himself was not fonder of talking to them; nor did
Scott make better use of his manifold experience. Fred-
erika's sister told her visitor that Goethe knew several handi-
crafts, and had even learned basket-making from a lame man
in Sesenheim. Here in Frankfurt the boy was welcome in
many a shop. The jeweller, Lautensack, gladly admitted
him to witness the mysteries of his art, while he made the
bouquet of jewels for the Kaiser, or a diamond snuj0f-box
which Rath Goethe had ordered as a present for his wife ;
the boy asking eager questions respecting precious stones,
and the engravings which the jeweller possessed. Nothnagel,
the painter, had established an oil-cloth manufactory ; and
Goethe not only learned all the processes, but lent a helping
hand.

Besides these, forms of life, there were others whose influ-
ence must not be overlooked ; one of these brings before us
the Fraulein von Klettenberg, of whom we first get a glimpse
in connection with his Confirmation, which took place at this
period, 1763. The readers of Wilhelm Meisier are familiar
with this gentle and exquisite character, where she is repre-
sented in the " Confessions of a Beautiful Soul" * In the
" Confessions " we see that the " piety '* and retirement are
represented less as the consequences of evangelical illumina-
tion, than of moral serenity and purity shrinking from con-
tact with a world of which it has been her fate to see the
coarsest features. The real Fraulein von Klettenberg it is
perhaps now impossible to separate from the ideal so beauti-

* Or as we in England, following Carlyle, have been misled into call-
ing it, the "Confessions of a Fair Saint." The schone Seele — une belle
dme, was one of the favorite epithets of the last century. Goethe applies
it to Klopstock, who was neither " saint nor fair.'*

1763] VARIOUS STUDIES. 39

fully painted by Goethe. On him her influence was avowedly
very great, both at this period and subsequently. It was not
so much the effect of religious discussion as the experience
it gave him of a deeply religious nature. She was neither
bigot nor prude. Her faith was an inner light which shed
mild radiance around her.* Moved by her influence, he
wrote a series of Religious Odes^ after the fashion of that day,
and greatly pleased his father by presenting them copied
neatly in a quarto volume. His father begged that every
year he would present him with such a volume.

A very different sort of female influence has now to be
touched on. His heart began to flutter with the emotions
of love. He was not quite fifteen, when Gretchen, the sister
of one of his companions, first set his youthful pulses throb-
bing to the movements of the divine passion. The story is
told in a rambling way in the Autobiography^ and may here
be very briefly dismissed. He had often turned his poetical
talents to practical purposes, namely, writing wedding and
funeral verses, the produce of which went in joyous feast-
ings. In these he was almost daily thrown with Gretchen ;
but she, though kind, treated him as a child, and never per
mitted the slightest familiarity. A merry life they led in
picnics and pleasure bouts ; and the coronation of the Kaiser
Joseph II. was the occasion of increased festivity. One
night, after the fatigues of a sight-seeing day, the hours
rolled unheeded over these thoughtless, merry heads, and the
? stroke of midnight startled them. To his dismay, Wolfgang
< found he had forgotten the door-key with which hitherto he
had been able to evade paternal knowledge of his late hours.
Gretchen proposed that they should all remain together, and

* In Varnhagen von Ense's Vertnischte Schriften (Vol. III. p. 33) the
reader will find a few significant details respecting this remarkable per-
son, and some of her poems.

40 THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE, [book I.

pass the night in conversation. This was agreed on. But,
as in all such cases, the effort was vain. Fatigue weighed
down their eyelids ; conversation became feebler and feebler;
two strangers already slumbered in corners of the room ;
one friend sat in a corner with his betrothed, her head re-
posing on his shoulder ; another crossing his arms upon the
table, rested his head upon them, and snored. The noisy
room had become silent. Gretchen and her lover sat by the
window talking in undertones. Fatigue at length conquered
her also, and drooping her head upon his shoulder she too
slept. With tender pride he supported that delicious burden,
till like the rest he gave way, and slept.

It was broad day when he awoke. Gretchen was standing
before a mirror, arranging her cap. She smiled on him more
amiably than ever she had smiled before ; and pressed his
hand tenderly as he departed. But now, while he seemed
drawing nearer to her, the dknouenunt was at hand. Some
of the joyous companions had been guilty of nefarious
practices, such as forgeries of documents. His friend and
Gretchen ere involved in the accusation, though falsely.
Wolfgang had to undergo a severe investigation, which, as he
was perfectly innocent, did not much afflict him ; but an
affliction came out of the investigation, for Gretchen, in her
deposition concerning him, said, " I will not deny that I have
often seen him, and seen him with pleasure, but I treated him
as a child, and my affection for him was merely that of a
sister." His exasperation may be imagined.

But pride came to his aid ; pride and that volatility of
youth, which compensates for extra sensitiveness by extra
facility in forgetting. He threw himself into study, especially
of philosophy, under guidance of a tutor, a sort of Wagner
to the young Faust This tutor, who preferred dusty quartos
to all the landscapes in the world, used to banter him upon

1764-1 VARIOUS STUDIES. 4I

being a true German, such as Tacitus describes, avid of the
emotions excited by solitude and scenery. The banter was
powerless. He was enjoying his first sorrow : the luxury of
melancholy, the romance of a forlorn existence, drove him
into solitude. Like Bellerophon he fed upon his own heart
away from the haunts of men. He made fi-equent walking
excursions. Those mountains, which from earliest childhood
had haunted him like a passion, were now his favorite resorts.
He visited Homburg, Kronburg, Konigstein, Wiesbaden,
Schwalbach, Biberich, and there filled his mind with lovely
images.

Severer studies were not neglected. To please his father
he was diligent in application to jurisprudence; to please
himself he was still more diligent in literature; Morhof's
Folyhistor^ Gessner's Isagoge, and Bayle's Dictionary filled
him with the ambition to become an University Professor.
Herein, as, indeed, throughout his career, we see the strange
impressibility of his nature, which, like the fabled chameleon,
takes its color from every tree it lies under.

The melancholy fit did not last long. A circle of lively
friends, among them Horn, of whom we shall hear more
anon, drew him into gayety again. Their opinion of his
talents appears to have been enormous ; their love for him,
and interest in all he did, was of a kind which followed him
through life. No matter what his mood, — in the wildest
student-period, in the startling genius-period, and in the di-
plomatic period, — whatever offence his manner created was
soon forgotten in the irresistible fascination of his nature.
The secret of that fascination was his own overflowing loving-
ness, and his genuine interest in every individuality, however
opposite to his own.

42 THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book l

CHAPTER IV.

THE CHILD IS FATHER TO THE MAN.

As in the soft round lineaments of cliildhood we trace the
features which after years will develop into more decided
forms, so in the moral lineaments of the Child may be traced
the characteristics of the Man. But an apparent solution of
continuity takes place in the transition period \ so that the
Youth is in many respects unlike what he has been in child-
hood, and what he will be in maturity. In youth, when the
passions begin to stir, the character is made to swerve from
the orbit previously traced. Passion, more than Character,
rules the hour. Thus we often see the prudent child turn
out an extravagant youth ; but he crystallizes once more into
prudence, as he hardens with age.

This was certainly the case with Goethe, who, if he had
died young, like Shelley or Keats, would have left a name
among the most genial^ not to say extravagant, of poets ; but
who, living to the age of eighty-two, had fifty years of crys-
tallization to acquire a definite figure which perplexes critics.
In his childhood, scanty as the datails are which enable us
to reconstruct it, we see the main features of the man. Let
us glance rapidly at them.

And first, of his manysidedness. Seldom has a boy exhib-
ited such variety of faculty. The multiplied activity of his
life is prefigured in the varied tendencies of his childhood.
We see him as an orderly, somewhat formal, inquisitive, rea-
soning, deliberative child, a precocious learner, an omnivorous
reader, and one who thinks for himself, — so independent, that
at six years of age he doubts the beneficence of the Creator ;
at seven, doubts the competence and justice of the world's

1764.1 THE CHILD IS FATHER TO THE MAN, 43

judgment He is inventive, poetical, proud, loving, volatile,
with a mind open to all influences, swayed by every gust, and
yet, while thus swayed as to the direction of his activity, he
is master over that activity. The most diverse characters,
the most antagonistic opinions, interest him. He is very
studious, no bookworm more so ; alternately busy with lan-
guages, mythology, antiquities, law, philosophy, poetry, and
religion ; yet he joins in all festive scenes, gets familiar with
life in various forms, and stays out late o' nights. He is also
troubled by melancholy, dreamy moods, forcing him ever and
anon into solitude.

Among the dominant characteristics are seriousness, for-
mality, rationality. He is by no means a naughty boy. He
gives his parents no tremulous anxiety as to what will become
of him. He seems very much master of himself It is this
which in later years perplexed his critics, who could not rec-
oncile this appearance of self-mastery, this seeming absence
of enthusiasm, with their conceptions of a poet. Assuredly
he had enthusiasm, if ever man had it : at least, enthusiasm
(being " full of the God ") means being filled with a divine
idea, and by its light working steadily. He had little of the
other kind of enthusiasm, — that insurrection of the feelings
carrying away upon their triumphant shoulders the Reason
which has no longer power to guide them ; for his intellect
did not derive its whole momentum from his feelings. And
hence it is that whereas the quality which first strikes us in
most poets is sensibility^ with its caprices, infirmities, and
generous errors, the first quality which strikes us in Goethe
— the Child and Man, but «^/ the Youth — is intellect, v^'iih.
its clearness and calmness. He has also a provoking degree
of immunity from error. I say provoking, for we all gladly
overlook the errors of enthusiasm; partly because these
errors appeal to our compassion ) and partly because these

44 THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book l

errors establish a community of impulse between the sinner
and ourselves, forming, as it were, broken edges which show
us where to look for support, — scars which tell of wounds we
have escaped. AVhereas, we are pitiless to the cold prudence
which shames our weakness and asks no alms from our
charity. Why do we all preach Prudence, and secretly dis-
like it ? Perhaps, because we dimly feel that life without its
generous errors might want its lasting enjoyments ; and thus
the very mistakes which arise from an imprudent, unreflecting
career are absolved by that instinct which suggests other
aims for existence beyond prudential aims. This is one rea-
son why the erring lives of Genius command such deathless
sympathy.

Having indicated so much, I may now ask those who are
distressed by the calm, self-sustaining superiority of Goethe
in old age, whether, on deeper reflection, they cannot recon-
cile it with their conceptions of the poet's nature ? We ad-
mire Rationality, but we sympathize with Sensibility. Our
dislike of the one arises from its supposed incompatibility
with the other. But if a man unites the mastery of AVill and
Intellect to the profoundest sensibility of Emotion, shall we
not say of him that he has in living synthesis vindicated both
what we preach and what we love? That Goethe united
these will be abundantly shown in this Biography. In the
chapters about to follow we shall see him wild, restless,
aimless, erring, and extravagant enough to satisfy the most
ardent admirer of the vagabond nature of genius : the Child
and the Man will at times be scarcely traceable in the
Youth.

One trait must not be passed over, namely, his impatient
susceptibility^ which, while it prevented his ever thoroughly
mastering the technic of any one subject, lay at the bottom
of his multiplied activity in directions so opposed to each

1764] THE CHILD IS FATHER TO THE MAM. 45

Other. He was excessively impressible, caught the impulse
from every surrounding influence, and was thus never con-
stant to one thing, because his susceptibility was connected
with an impatience which soon made him weary. There are
men who learn many languages, and never thoroughly master
the grammar of one. Of these was Goethe. Easily excited
to throw his energy in a new direction, he had not the pa-
tience which begins at the beginning, and rises gradually,
slowly into assured mastery. Like an eagle he swooped down
upon his prey ; he could not watch for it with cat-like patience.
It is to this impatience we must attribute the fact of so many
works being left fragments, so many composed by snatches
during long intervals. Prometheus^ Mahomet^ Die Naiiirliche
Tochter, Elpefior, Ackilleis, Nausikda^ remain fragments. Faust^
Egmant^ Tasso, Iphigenia, Meisier, were many years in hand.
Whatever could be done in a few days — while the impulse
lasted — was done ; longer works were spread over a series
of years.

BOOK THE SECOND.

1765 TO I77I.

CHAPTER I.

THE LEIPSIC STUDENT.

In the month of October, 1765, Goethe, aged sixteen,
arrived in Leipsic, to commence his collegiate life, and to lay,
as he hoped, the solid foundation of a future professorship.
He took lodgings in the Feuerkugel, between the Old and New
Markets, and was by the rector of the University inscribed on
the 19th as student "in the Bavarian nation." At that
period, and until quite recently, the University was classed
according to four " nations,*' namely, the Misnian, the Saxon^
the Bavarivn^ and the Polish, AVhen the inscription was
official, the "nations" were what in Oxford and Paris are
called " tongues " ; when not official, they were students'
clubs, such as they exist to this day. Goethe, as a Frank-
furter, was placed in the Bavarian.*

He first presented himself to Hofrath Bohme, a genuine
professor, shut within the narrow circle of his speciality. To
him Literature and the Fine Arts were trivialities ; and when
the confiding youth confessed his secret ambition of studying
belles lettres^ in lieu of the jurisprudence commanded by his
father, he met with every discouragement. Yet it was not
difficult to persuade this impressible student that to rival
Otto and Heineccius was the true ambition of a vigorous

* Otto Jahn, in the Briefe an Leipziger Freunde^ p. 9.

1765.] THE LEIPSIC STUDENT, 47

mind. He set to work in earnest, at first, as students usually
do on arriving at seats of learning. His attendance at the
lectures on philosophy, history of law, and jurisprudence was
assiduous enough to have pleased even his father. But tliis
flush of eagerness quickly subsided. Logic was repug-
nant to him. He hungered for realities, and could not be
satisfied with definitions. To see operations of his mind,
which, from childhood upwards, had been conducted with
perfect ease and unconsciousness, suddenly pulled to pieces,
in order that he might gain the superfluous knowledge
of what they were, and what they were called, was to him
tiresome and frivolous. " I fancied I knew as much about
God and the world as the professor himself, and logic seemed
in many places to come to a dead standstill." We are here on
the threshold of that experience which has been immortalized
in the scene between Mephistopheles and the Student. Juris-
prudence soon became almost equally tiresome. He already
knew as much law as the professor thought proper to com-
municate ; and what with the tedium of the lectures, and the
counter-attraction of delicious fritters, which used tO come
" hot from the pan precisely at the hour of lecture " no wonder
that volatile Sixteen soon abated attendance.

Volatile he was, wild, and somewhat rough, both in appear-
ance and in speech. He had brought with him a wild, uneasy
spirit struggling towards the light. He had also brought with
him the rough manners of Frankfurt, the strong Frankfurt
dialect and colloquialisms, rendered still more unfit for the
Leipsic salon by a mixture of proverbs and Biblical allu-
sions. Nay, even his costume was in unpleasant contrast
with that of the society in which he moved. He had an
ample wardrobe, but unhappily it was doubly out of fashion :
it had been manufactured at home by one of his father's
servants, and thus was not only in the Frankfurt style, but

^8 THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book ii.

grotesquely made in that style. To complete his discom-
fiture, he saw a favorite low comedian throw an audience
into fits of laughter by appearing on the stage dressed pre-
cisely in that costume, which he had hitherto worn as the
latest novelty 1 All who can remember the early humiliations
of being far behind their companions in matters of costume
will sympathize with this youth.

Dissatified with College, he sought instruction elsewhere.
At the table where he dined daily, kept by Hofrath Ludwig,
the rector, he met several medical students. He heard little
talked of but medicine and botany, and the names of Haller,
Linnaeus, and Buffon were incessantly cited with respect
His ready quickness to interest himself in all that interested
those around him threw him at once into these studies, which
hereafter he was to pursue with passionate ardor, but which
at present he only lightly touched. Another source of in-
struction awaited him, one which through life he ever grate-
fully acknowledged, namely, the society of women.

In Leipsic, he was glad to learn from Frau Bohme not only
some of the requisites for society, but also some principles
of poetic criticism. This delicate, accomplished woman was
able to draw him into society, to teach him Tombre and
picquet, to correct some of his awkwardnesses, and lastly to
make him own that the poets he admired were a deplorable
set, and that his own imitations of them deserved no better
fate than the flames. He had got rid of his absurd wardrobe
at one fell swoop, without a murmur at the expense. He
now had also to cast away the poetic wardrobe brought
from home with so much pride. He saw that it was
poetic frippery, — saw that his own poems were lifeless;
accordingly, a holocaust was made of all his writhigs, prose
and verse, and. the kitchen fire wafted them into space.

Schlosser, afterwards his brother-in-law, came to Leipsic,

1765.] THE LEIPSIC STUDENT. 49

and by his preaching and example once more roused the
productive activity which showed itself in Germany French,
English, and Italian verses. Schlosser, who was ten years his
senior, not only awakened emulation by his own superior
knowledge and facility, but further aided him by introducing
him to a set of literary friends with whom poetic discussions
formed the staple of conversation. This circle met at the
house of one Schonkopf, a Weinhdndler and Haunvirth^
living in the Briihl, No. 79.* To translate these words into
English equivalents would only mislead the reader. Schon-
kopf kept neither a hotel, nor a public house, but what in
Germany is a substitute for both. He sold wine, and kept a
tabU-d'hbte; occasionally also let bedrooms to travellers.
His wife, a lively, cultivated woman, belonging to a good
family in Frankfurt, drew Frankfurt visitors to the house;
and with her Goethe soon became on terms of intimacy
which would seem surprising to the English reader who only
heard of heAs an innkeeper's wife. He became one of the
family, and fell in love with the daughter. I must further
beg the reader to understand that in Germany, to this day,
there is a wide difference between the dining customs and
our own. The English student, clerk, or bachelor, who dines
at an eating-house, chop-house, or hotel, goes there simply to
get his dinner, and perhaps look at The Times. Of the other
diners he knows nothing, cares little. It is rare that a word
is interchanged between him and his neighbor. Quite other-
wise in Germany. There the same society is generally to be
found at the same table. The table-d^hote is composed of a
circle of habituh^ varied by occasional visitors, who in time
become, perhaps, members of the circle. Even with strangers
conversation is freely interchanged ; and in a little while

* The house still stands there, but has been almost entirely re*
modeUed.

3 D

JO THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE, [book il

friendships are formed over these dinner-tables, according as
natural tastes and likings assimilate, which, extending be-
yond the mere hour of dinner, are carried into the current of
life. Germans do not rise so hastily from the table as we ;
for time with them is not so precious ; life is not so crowded ;
time can be found for quiet after-dinner talk. The cigars and
coffee, which appear before the cloth is removed, keep the
company together; and in that state of suffused comfort
which quiet digestion creates, they hear without anger the
opinions of antagonists. In such a society must we imagine
Goethe in the Schonkopf establishment, among students and
men of letters, all eager in advancing their own opinions, and
combating the false taste which was not their own.

To complete this picture, and to separate it still more from
our English customs, you must imagine host and hostess
dining at the table, while their charming daughter, who had
cooked or helped to cook the dinner, brought them the
wine. This daughter was the Anna Katharina, by intimates
called Kathchen, and by Goethe, in the Autobiography^ desig-
nated as Annchen and Annette. Her portrait, still extant, is
very pleasing. She was then nineteen, lively and loving;
how could she be insensible to the love of this glorious youth,
in all the fervor of genius, and with all the attractions of
beauty ? They saw each other daily, not only at dinner but
in the evenings, when he accompanied the piano of her
brother by a feeble performance on the flute. They also got
up private theatricals, in which Goethe and Kathchen played
the lovers. Minna von Bamheim, then a novelty, was among
the pieces performed. That these performances were of a
strictly amateur order may be gathered from the fact that in
one of them the part of a nightingale, which is important, was
represented by a handkerchief, rolled up into such ornitho-
logical resemblance as art could reach.

1766.] THE LEIPSIC STUDENT, 51

Imagine this somewhat fantastic youth assured that his
passion is returned, and then imagine him indulging in the
boyish caprice of tormenting his beloved. There is nothing
more cruel than youth ; and youthful lovers, once assured of
victory, are singularly prone to indulge in the most frivolous
pretexts for ingeniously tormenting. " Man loves to conquer,
likes not to feel secure," Goethe says, in the piece wherein
he dramatized this early experience : —

" Erringen will der Mensch ; er will nicht sicher seyn."

Had Kathchen coquetted with him, keeping him in the ex-
quisite pain of suspense, she would have been happier ; but
as he said in his little poem, Der Wahre Gmuss^ " she is per-
fect, and her only fault is — that she loves me " : —

^ Sie ist vollkommen, und sie fehlet
Darin allein dass sie mich liebt."

He teased her with trifles and idle suspicions ; was jealous
without cause, convinced without reason ; plagued her with
fantastic quarrels, till at last her endurance was exhausted,
and her love was washed away in tears. No sooner was he
aware of this than he repented, and tried to recover the jewel
which like a prodigal he had cast away. In vain. He was
in despair, and tried in dissipation to forget his grief. A
better issue was poetry. Several of his lyrics bore the bur-
den of this experience ; and one entire play, or pastoral, is
devoted to a poetical representation of these lovers' quarrels :
this is Die Laune des VerlUbten^ which is very curious as the
earliest extant work of the great poet, and as the earliest
specimen of his tendency to turn experience into song. In
the opera of Erwin und Elmire he subsequently treated a
similar subject in a very different manner. The first effort is
the more curious of the two. The style of composition is an
imitation of those pastoral dramas which, originated by

52 THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book ii.

Tasso and Guarini in the soft and almost luscious Aminta
and Pastor Ftdo, had by the French been made popular all
over Europe.

Young, curious, and excitable as he was, nothing is more
natural than that he should somewhat shock the respecta-
bilities by his pranks and extravagances. The friends were
displeased to see young Goethe falling thus away from good
society into such a disreputable course ; but just as Lessing
before him had neglected the elegant Leipsic world for
actors and authors of more wit than money, and preferred
Mylius, with his shoes down at heel, to all that the best drest
society could offer ; so did young Goethe neglect salon and
lecture-hall for the many-colored scene of life in less elegant
circles. Enlightened by the result, we foresee that the poet
will receive little injury from these sources ; he is gaining
experience, and experience even of the worst sides of human
nature will be sublimated into noble uses, as carrion by the
wise farmer is turned into excellent manure. In this great
drama of life every Theatre has its Green-room ; and unless
the poet knows how it is behind the scenes, he will never
understand how actors speak and move.

Goethe had often been " behind the scenes," looking at
the skeleton which stands in almost every house. His ad-
venture with Gretchen, and its consequences, early opened
his eyes to the strange gulfs which lie under the crust of
society. " Religion, morals, law, rank, habits," he says,
" rule over the surface of social life. Streets of magnificent
houses are kept clean ; every one outwardly conducts himself
with propriety ; but the disorder within is often only the more
desolate ; and a polished exterior covers many a wall which
totters, and falls with a crash during the night, all the more
terrible because it falls during a calm. How many families
had I not more or less distinctly known in which bankruptcy,

1766.] ART STUDIES. 53

divorce, seduction, murder, and robbery had wrought destruc-
tion ! Young as I was, I had often, in such cases, lent my
succor; for as my frankness awakened confidence, and my
discretion was known, and as my activity did not shun any
sacrifice, — indeed, rather preferred the most perilous occa-
sions, — I had frequently to mediate, console, and try to
avert the storm ; in the course of which I could not help
learning many sad and humiliating facts."

It was natural that such sad experience should at first lead
him to view the whole social fabric with contempt. To
relieve himself he — being then greatly captivated with
Molifere's works — sketched the plans of several dramas, but
their plots were so uniformly unpleasant, and the catastrophes
so tragic, that he did not work out these plans. The Felloiv-
Sinners {Die Mitschuldigen) is the sole piece which was com-
pleted, and it now occupies a place among his writings. Few,
in England at least, ever read it ; yet it is worth a rapid
glance, and is especially remarkable as the work of a youth
not yet eighteen.

CHAPTER II.

ART STUDIES.

Frau Bohme died. In her he lost a monitress and friend,
who had kept some check on his waywardness, and drawn
him into society. The Professor had long since cooled
towards him, after giving up all hopes of making him another
Heineccius. It was pitiful ! A youth with such remarkable
dispositions, who would not be assiduous in attendance at
lecture, and whose amusement during lecture was to sketch
caricatures of various law dignitaries in his note-book ; an--

•54 THE STORY OF G0ETHE:S LIFE, [book ii.

Other ornament to jurisprudence irrecoverably lost I Indeed^
the collegiate aspect of this Leipsic residence was v^X, one
promising to professors ; but we — instructed by the result
— know how much better he was employed than if he had
filled a hundred volumes of note-books by diligent attend-
ance at lecture. He studied much, in a desultory manner :
he studied Moli^re and Corneille; he began to translate
Le Menteur, The theatre was a perpetual attraction ; and
even the uneasy, u satisfied condition of his affections was
instructing him in directions whither no professor could lead
him. But greater than all was the influence of Shakespeare,
whom he first learned a little of through Dodd's Beauties of
Shakespeare^ a work not much prized in England, where the
plays form part of our traditional education, but which must
have been a revelation to the Germans something analogous
to what Charles Lamb's Specimens of the Old English Drama
was to us. The marvellous strength and beauty of language,
the bold and natural imagery of these BeautieSy startled the
young poets of that day, like the discovery of huge fossil
remains of some antediluvian fauna ; and to gratify the
curiosity thus awakened, he says there came Wieland's
prose translation of several plays, which he studied with
enthusiasfn.*

There are no materials to fill up the gaps of his narrative
here, so that I am forced to leave much indistinct For
instance, he has told us that Kathchen and he were no longer
lovers ; but we find him writing to her in a friendly and even
lover-like tone from Frankfurt, and we know that fiiendly
intercourse still subsisted between them. Of this, however,
not a word occurs in the Autobigraphy, Nor are we accu-

* It is possible that Wieland's translation only then fell into Goethe's
hands, but the publication was commenced before his arrival in Leipsic,
namely, in 17^1.

1767.1 ART STUDIES. 55

rately informed how he made the acquaintance of the Breit-
kopf family. Breitkopf was a bookseller in Leipsic, in whose
house Literature and Music were highly prized. Bemhard,
the eldest son, was an excellent performer, and composed
music to Goethe's songs, which were published in 1769,
under this title, Neuc Lieder in Melodieen gesetst van Bern'
hard Theodor Breitkopf* The poet is not named. This
Liederbuch contains twenty songs, the majority of which were
subsequently reprinted in the poef s works. They are love-
songs, and contain a love-philosophy more like what is to be
found in Catullus, Horace, and Wieland, than what one
would expect from a boy, did we not remember how the
braggadocio of youth delights in expressing rouh sentiments^
as if to give itself airs of profound experience. This youth
sings with gusto of inconstancy : —

" Da fUhl ich die JFreuden der wechselnden Lust."

He gayly declares that if one mistress leaves you another
will love you, and the second is sweeter to kiss than the
first : —

" £s kiisst sich so siisse der Busen der Zweiten,
Als kaum sich der Busen der Ersten gekiissL''

Another acquaintance, and one more directly influential^
was that of Oeser, the director of the Drawing Academy.
He had been the friend and teacher of Winckelmann, and
his name stood high among connoisseurs* Goethe, who at
home had learned a little drawing, joined Oeser's class,
where, among other fellow-students, was the Hardenberg who
afterwards made such a noise in the Prussian political world.
He joined the class, and did his best to acquire by labor the
skill which only a talent can acquire. That he made little
progress in drawing we learn from his subsequent confession
no less than from his failure ; but tuition had this effect at
least, — it taught him to use his eyes.

56 THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book ii.

Instruction in the theory of Art he gained from Oeser,
from Winckelmann, and from Laokoon^ the incomparable lit-
tle book which Lessing at this period carelessly flung upon
the world. Its effect upon Goethe can only be appreciated
by those who early in life have met with this work, and risen
from it with minds widened, strengthened, and inspired.*
It opened a pathway amid confusion, throwing light upon
many of the obscurest problems which torment the artist
It awakened in Goethe an intense yearning to see the works
of ancient masters ; and these beckoned from Dresden. To
Dresden he went. But here, in spite of Oeser, Winckelmann,
and Lessing, in spite of grand phrases about Art, the invin-
cible tendency of his nature asserted itself, and instead of
falling into raptures with the great Italian pictures, he con-
fesses that he took their merits upon trust, and was really
charmed by none but the landscape and Dutch painters,
whose subjects appealed directly to his experience. He did
nor feel the greatness of Italian Art ; and what he did not
feel he would not feign.

It is worth noticing that this trip to Dresden was taken in
absolute secrecy. As, many years later, he stole away to
Italy without letting his friends even suspect his project, so
now he left Leipsic for Dresden without a word of intima-
tion. Probably the same motive actuated him in both in^
stances. He went to see, to enjoy, to learn, and did not
want to be disturbed by personal influence, — by other peo'
pie's opinions.

On his return he was active enough with drawing. He
made the acquaintance of an engraver named Stock,t and

* Lord Macaulay. told me that the reading of this little book formed
an epoch in his mental history, and that he learned more about Art from
it than he had ever learned elsewhere.

t This Stock had two amiable daughters, one of whom married
(1785) Korner, the correspondent of Schiller, and father of the poet

1767.1 ART STUDIES, 57

with his usual propensity to try his hand at whatever his
friends were doing, he forthwith began to learn engraving.
In the Morgmblatt for 1828 there is a detailed account of
two of his engravings, both representing landscapes with
small cascades shut in by rocks and grottoes ; at the foot of
each are these words : pant par A, TTuile^ gravt par Goet/u.
One plate is dedicated i Monseieur Goethe ConseiUer actuel de
S, M. JmpiriaUy par son fils trh ohkissant. In the room
which they show to strangers in his house in Frankfurt, there
is also a specimen of his engraving, — very amateurish ; but
Madame von Goethe showed me one in her possession which
really has merit

Melancholy, wayward, and capricious, he allowed Lessing
to pass through Leipsic without making any attempt to see
th'b man he so much admired : a caprice he afterwards re-
pented, for the opportunity never recurred. Something of
his hypochondria was due to mental, but more to physical
causes. Dissipation, bad diet (especially the beer and coffee),
and absurd endeavors to carry out Rousseau's preaching
about returning to a state of nature, had seriously affected
his health. The crisis came at last. One summer night
(1768) he was seized with violent hemorrhage. He had
only strength enough to call to his aid the fellow-student who
slept in the next room. Medical assistance promptly came.
He was saved ; but his convalescence was embittered by the
discovery of a tumor on his neck, which lasted some time.
His recovery was slow, but it seemed as if it relieved him
from all the peccant humors which had made him hypochon-
driacal, leaving behind an inward lightness and joyousness
to which he had long been a stranger. One thing greatly
touched him, — the sympathy expressed for him by several
eminent men ; a sympathy he felt to be quite undeserved,
for there was not one among them whom he had not vexed
8*

jg THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book li.

or affronted by his caprices, extravagances, morbid opposi-
tion, and stubborn persistence.

One of these friends, Langer, not only made an exchange
of books with him, giving a set of classic authors for a set of
German, but also, in devout yet not dogmatic conversation,
led his young friend to regard the Bible in another light than
that of a merely human composition. <'I loved the Bible
and valued it, for it was almost the only book to which I
owed my moral culture. Its events, dogmas, and symbols
were deeply impressed on my mind." He therefore felt little
sympathy with the Deists, who were at this time agitating
Europe ; and although his tendency was strongly against the
Mystics, he was afraid lest the poetical spirit should be swept
away along with the prophetical. In one word, he was in a
state of religious doubt, — " destitute of faith, yet terrified" at
scepticism."

This unrest and this bodily weakness he carried with him,
September, 1768, fi-om Leipsic to Frankfurt, whither we will
follow him.

CHAPTER III.

RETURN HOME.

jrfE returned home a boy in years, in experience a man.
Broken in health, unhappy in mind, with no strong impulses
in any one direction, uncertain of himself and of his aims,
he felt, as he approached his native city, much like a repent-
ant prodigal who has no vision of the fatted calf awaiting
him. His father, unable to perceive the real progress he
had made, was very much alive to the slender prospect of his
becoming a distinguished jurist. The fathers of poets are

1770.] RETURN HOME. jg

seldom gratified with the progress in education visible to
them ; and the reason is that they do not know their sons to
be poets, nor understand that the poet's orbit is not the same
as their own. They tread the common highway on which
the milestones accurately mark distances ; and seeing that
their sons have trudged but little way according to this meas-
urement, their minds are filled with misgivings. Of that
silent progress, which consists less in travelling on the broad
highway than in development of the limbs which will make a
sturdy traveller, parents cannot judge.

Mother and sister, however, touched by the worn face, and,
woman-like, more interested in the man than in what he had
achieved, received him with an affection which compensated
for his father's coldness. There is quite a pathetic glimpse
given of this domestic interior in the Autobiography y where
he alludes to his father's impatience at his illness, and anx-
iety for his speedy recovery.

We find him in cold, unpleasant relations with his father,
who had almost excited the hatred of his other child, Cor-
nelia, by the stem, pedantic, pedagogic way in which he
treated her. The old man continued to busy himself with
writing his travels in Italy, and with instructing his daughter.
She, who was of a restless, excitable, almost morbid dispo-
sition, secretly rebelled against his t3aanny, and made her
brother the confidant of all her griefs. The poor mother had
a terrible time of it, trying to pacify the children, and to
stand between them and their father.

Very noticeable is one detail recorded by him. He had
fallen ill again ; this time with a stomach disorder, which no
therapeutic treatment in the power of Frankfurt medicine
seemed to mitigate. The family physician was one of those
duped dupers who still clung to the great promises of Al-
chemy. It was whispered that he had in his possession a

6o THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE, [book n.

marvellous panacea, which was only to be employed in times
of greatest need, and of which, indeed, no one dared openly
speak. Frau Aja, trembling for her son, besought him to
employ this mysterious salt. He consented. The patient
recovered, and belief in the physician's skill became more
complete. Not only was the poet thus restored once more to
health, he was also thereby led to the study of Alchemy, and,
as he narrates, employed himself in researches after the
"virgin earth.*' In the little study of that house in the
Hirsch-graben^ he collected his glasses and retorts, and fol-
lowing the directions of authorities, sought, for a time, to
penetrate the mystery which then seemed so penetrable. It
is characteristic of his ardent curiosity and volatility that he
should have now devoted the long hours of study to works
such as Welling's Opus Mago-cabbalisiicum et Theosophicutn^
and the unintelligible mystifications and diatribes of Paracel-
sus. He also tried Van Helmont (an interesting though fan-
tastic writer), Basil Valentine, and other Alchemists. These,
however, must quickly have been laid aside. They were
replaced by the Compendium and the Aphorisms of Boerhaave,
who at that period filled Europe with the sound of his name.*
Goethe's studies of these writings were valuable as prepara-
tions for Faust; and were not without influence on his subse-
quent career in science.

Renewed intercourse with Fraulein von Klettenberg, to-
gether with much theological and philosophical reading,
brought Religion into prominence in his thoughts. Paoli,
the Corsican Patriot, passed through Frankfurt at this time,

* So little can contemporary verdicts settle an author's position, that
Boerhaave, whose Institutions were thought worthy of a Commentary in
seven quartos by the great Haller, and whose Aphorisms were expanded
into five quartos by the illustrious Van Swieten, is now nothing but a
name.

I770.) STRASBURG. 6 1

and Goethe saw him in the house of Bethmann, the rich
merchant; but, with this exception, Frankfurt presented
nothing remarkable to him, and he was impatient to escape
from it. His health was sufficiently restored for his father
to hope that now jurisprudence could be studied with some
success ; and Strasbuig was the university selected for that
purpose.

CHAPTER IV.

STRASBURG.

He reached Strasburg on the 2d April, 1770. He was
now turned twenty, and a more magnificent youth never,
perhaps, entered the Strasburg gates. Long before celebrity
had fixed all eyes upon him he was likened to an Apollo ;
and once, when he entered a dining-room, people laid down
their knives and forks to stare at the beautiful youth. Pic-
tures and busts, even when most resembling, give but a feeble
indication of that which was most striking in his appearance ;
they give the form of features, but not the play of features ;
nor are they very accurate as to the form. His features were
large and liberally cut, with the fine sweeping lines of Greek
art. The brow was lofty and massive, and from beneath it
shone large lustrous brown eyes of marvellous beauty, their
pupils seeming of almost unexampled size. The slightly
aquiline nose was large and well cut. The mouth was full,
with a short, arched upper lip, very sensitive and expressive.
The chin and jaw were boldly proportioned ; and the head
rested on a handsome and muscular neck.

In stature he was rather above the middle size ; but al-
though not really tall, he had the aspect of a tall man, and is

rr or coetws't .

K peer tfciis peUofed '^'"""

^iBadT in rcscaich

fiidc «o^ ^ cEhU i

Us gIsBCS and letc

tf jllillllllllir iOi#E, for

then seemed so per

the loi« Ik'^i^ 5^ ^^^

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sad od>^ '^^'

^ b^^ bid a^i^^ '^*

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62 THE STORY OF GOETHETS LIFE, [book il

usually so described, because his presence was very impos-
ing.* His frame was strong, muscular, yet sensitive. While
excelling in all active sports, he was almost a barometer in
sensitiveness to atmospheric influences.

Such, externally, was the youth who descended at the
ffotei zum Gcist, in Strasburg, this 2d April, and who, rid-
ding himself of the dust and ennui of a long imprisonment
in the diligence, sallied .forth to gaze at the famous cathedral,
which made a wonderful impression on him as he came up to
it through the narrow streets. The Strasburg Cathedral not
inaptly serves as the symbol of his early German tendencies ;
and its glorious tower is always connected, in my mind, with
the brief but ardent endeavors of his Hellenic nature to
throw itself into the old German world. German his spirit
was not, but we shall see him, under the shadow of this
tower, for a moment inspired with true German enthusiasm.

His lodgings secured, — No. 80, on the south side of the
Fish Market (now called ie quai de baielier\ — he delivered
his letters of introduction, and arranged to dine at a tabte-
dhbte kept by two maiden ladies, named Lauth, in the
Kramergasse, No. 13. The guests here were about ten in
number, mostly medical. Their president was Dr. Salzmann,
a clean old bachelor of eight-and-forty, scrupulous in his
stockings, immaculate as to his shoes and buckles, with hat
under his arm, and scarcely ever on his head, — a neat, dap-
per old gentleman, well instructed, and greatly liked by the
poet, to whom he gave excellent advice, and for whom he
found a valuable repetmt f In spite of the services of this

* Rauch, the sculptor, who made the well-known statuette of Goethe,
explained this to me as owing to his large bust and erect carriage.

t The medical student will best understand what a repetent is, if the
word be translated a grinder ; the university student, if the word be
translated a coach. The repetent prepares students by an eicamination,

I77<xl STRASBURG. 63

excellent repetent, jurisprudence wearied him considerably,
according to his account ; at first, however, he seems to have
taken to it with some pleasure, as we learn by a letter, in
which he tells Fraulein von Klettenberg a different story :
" Jurisprudence begins to please me very much. Thus it is
with all things as with Merseburg beer : the first time we
shudder at it, and having drunk it for a week, we cannot do
without it." The study of jurisprudence, at any rate, did not
absorb him. Scholl has published a note-book kept during
this period, which reveals an astonishing activity in desultory
research.* When we remember that the society at his iahle-
d'hote was principally of medical students, we are prepared
to find him eagerly throwing himself into the study of anat-
omy and chemistry. He attended Lobstein's lectures on
anatomy, Ehrmann's clinical lectures, with those of his son
on midwifer}', and Spielman's on chemistry. Electricity occu-
pied him, Franklin's great discovery having brought that
subject into prominence. No less than nine works on elec-
tricity are set down in the note-book to be studied. We also
see from this note-book that chromatic subjects begin to
attract him, — the future antagonist of Newton was preluding
in the science. Alchemy still fascinated him j and he wrote
to Fraulein von Klettenberg, assuring her that these mystical
studies were his secret mistresses. With such a direction of
his thoughts, and the influence of this pure, pious woman
still operating upon him, we can imagine the disgust which
followed his study of the Systhme de la Nature^ then making
so great a noise in the world. This dead and dull exposi-
tion of an atheism as superficial as it was dull, must have
been every way revolting to him : irritating to his piety, and

and also by repeating and explaining in private what the professor has
taught in the lecture-hall.
♦ BrUfe und 4ufsiUze von Goethe, Herausgegeben von Adolf Scholl.

6^ THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book IL

unsatisfying to his reason. Voltaire's wit and Rousseau's
sarcasms he could copy into his note-book, especially when
they pointed in the direction of tolerance ; but he who could
read Bayle, Voltaire, and Rousseau with delight, turned from
the Sysikme de la Nature with scorn ; especially at a time
when we find him taking the sacrament, and trying to keep
up an acquaintance with the pious families to which Fraulein
von Klettenberg had introduced him. I say trying^ because
even his good-will could not long withstand their dulness and
narrowness ; he was forced to give them up, and confessed so
much to his friend.

In a letter of this date, he intimates that he is " so improved
in knowledge of Greek, as almost to read Homer without a
translation. I am a week older; that^ you know, says a
great deal with me, not because I do much, but many things."
Among these many things, we must note his ardent search
through mystical metaphysical writings for the material on
which his insatiable appetite could feed. Strange revelations
in this direction are afforded by his note-book. On one page
there is a passage from Thomas k Kempis, followed by a list
of mystical works to be read ; on another page, sarcastic sen-
tences from Rousseau and Voltaire ; on a third a reference to
Tauler. The book contains an analysis of the PfuBdon of
Moses Mendelssohn, contrasted with that of Plato ; and a
defence of Giordano Bruno against the criticism of Bayle.

Time was not all consumed by these studies, multifarious
as they were. Lively Strasburg had its amusements, and
Goethe joined his friend Salzmann in many a pleasant party.
The various pleasure-grounds and public gardens were always
crowded with promenaders, and there the mixture of the old
national costume with modern fashions gave charming variety
to the scene, and made the pretty women still more attractive.

He found himself in the presence of two sharply defined

I770.1 STRASBURG, 65

nationalities. Alsatia, and especially Strasburg, although be-
longing to France, still preserved its old German character.
Eight hundred years of national life were not to be set aside
at once, when it pleased the powers, at the peace of West-
phalia, to say that Alsatia should be French. Until the mid-
dle of the eighteenth century the old German speech, costume,
and manners were so dominant, that a Frankfurter, or a
Mainzer, found himself at once at home there. But just be-
fore the outbreak of the French Revolution the gradual influx
of officials brought about a sort of fashion in French costume.
Milliners, friseurs, and dancing-masters had done their best,
or their worst, to "polish" society. But the surface was
rough, and did not tate kindly to this polishing. Side by side
with the French etnploySy there was the old German professor,
who obstinately declined to acquire more of the foreigners'
language than sufficed for daily needs and household matters ;
for the rest he kept sturdily Teutonic. Even in costume the
imitation was mainly confined to the upper classes.* Goethe
describes the maidens of the bourgeoisie still wearing their
hair in one long plait, falling behind, and their petticoats of
picturesque but perilous brevity.

Salzmann introduced him to several families, and thus more
than by all his advice helped to soften down the exuberant
expression of animal spirits which very often sinned against
quiet conventionalities; for by inducing him to frequent
society, it forced him to learn that demeanor which society
imperatively demands. In Wilhelm Meisier great stress is
laid upon the culture necessary to fit a man of genius for
society ; and one of the great motives advanced for the pur-
suance of a theatrical career is the facility it affords a man
of gaining address.

* Stobbes, Dtr Akhtar SdUmann^ 1855, p. 7.

66 ^^^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE, Ibook n.

An excitable, impetuous youth, ambitious of shining in
society, yet painfully conscious of the unsuitableness of his
previous training for the attainment of that quietness deemed
so necessary, would require to attend to every trifle which
might affect hb deportment Thus, although he had magnifi-
cent hair, he allowed the hairdresser to tie it up in a bag, and
affix a false queue. This obliged him to remain propped up
powdered, from an early hour of the morning, and also to keep
from overheating himself, and from violent gestures, lest he
should betray the false ornament. " This restraint contributed
much towards making me for a time more gentle and polite in
my bearing ; and I got accustomed to shoes and stockings,
and to carrying my hat under my arm ; I did not, however,
neglect wearing fine under-stockings as a protection against
the Rhine gnats.** To these qualifications as a cavalier, he
added those of an excellent swordsman and rider. With his
fellow-students, he had abundant exercise in the use of the
rapier ; and prompted, I presume, by his restless desire to do
all that his friends did, he began to learn the violoncello I

His circle of friends widened ; and even that of his fellow-
boarders in the Kramergasse increased. Among the latter,
two deserve special mention, — Jung Stilling and Franz
Lerse. Stilling has preserved an account of their first meet-
ing * About twenty were assembled at dinner, when a young
man entered the room in high spirits, whose large, clear eyes,
splendid brow, and beautifully proportioned figure irresistibly
drew the attention of Troost and Stilling. The former re-
marked, "That must be an extraordinary man !" Stilling as-
sented ; but feared lest they might be somewhat annoyed by
him, he looked such a wild, rollicking fellow. Meanwhile they
learned that this student, whose unconstrained freedom and

* S.TlLLnvG'9 WdndersckaA p. 158.

I770.1 STRASBURG, 67

hplamb made them draw under their shells, was named Herr
Goethe. Dinner proceeded. Goethe, who sat opposite Stilling,
had completely the lead in conversation, without once seeking
it. At length one of the company began quizzing the wig of
poor Stilling ; and the fun was relished by all except Troost,
Salzmann, and one who, indignantly reproving them for making
game of so inoffensive a person, silenced the ridicule immedi-
ately ; this was none other than the large-eyed student whose
appearance had excited Stilling's uneasiness. The friendship
thus begun was continued by the sympathy and tender affec-
tionateness Goethe always displayed towards the simple, ear-
nest, and unfriended thinker, whose deep religious convic-
tions, and trusting child-like nature, singularly interested him.
Goethe was never tired of listening to the story of his life. In-
stinctively he sought on all sides to penetrate the mysteries of
humanity, and, by probing every man's experience, to make it
his own. Here was a poor charcoal-burner, who from tailoring
had passed to keeping a school ; that failing, he had resumed
his needle ; and having joined a religious sect, had, in silent
communion with his own soul, gained for himself a sort of
culture which raised him above the ordinary height of men :
what was there in his life or opinions to captivate the riotous,
sceptical, prosperous student? There was earnestness, —
there was genuineness. Goethe was eminently qualified to
become the friend of one who held opposite convictions to his
own, for his tolerance was large and genuine, and he respected
every real conviction. Sympathizing with Stilling, listening
to him, and dexterously avoiding any interference with his
religious faith, he was not only enabled to be his friend, but
also to learn quietly and surely the inner nature of such men.
Franz Lerse attracted him by different qualities : upright
manliness, scrupulous orderliness, dry humor, and a talent
for reconciling antagonists. As a memorial of their friend-

68 THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book ii.

ship his name is given to the gallant fellow in Gotz von
Berlichingm who knows how to subordinate himself with
dignity.

Salzmann had some years before founded a sort of club,
or, as Stilling calls it, Gesdlschaft der Schbnm Wissenschaften^
the object of which was to join a book-society with a debat-
ing-club. In 1763 - 64 this club had among its members no
less a person than O. F. Miiller, the renowned helminthol-
ogist; and now in 1770-7 litnumbered, among others, Goethe,
Lerse, Jung Stilling, Lenz, Weyland, and was honored by
the presence of Herder, who was then writing his work on
the Origin of Language,

Generally speaking, Goethe is so liberal in information
about his friends and contemporaries, and so sparing of
precise indications of his own condition, that we are left in
the dark respecting much that would be welcome knowledge.
There is one thing mentioned by him which is very significant :
although his health was sufficiently established for ordinary
purposes, he still suffered from great irritability. Loud sounds
were disagreeable to him ; diseased objects aroused loathing
and horror. And he was especially troubled with giddiness,
which came over him whenever he looked down from a height
All these infirmities he resolved to conquer, and that some-
what violently. In the evening when they beat the tattoo,
he went close to the drums, though the powerful rolling
and beating of so many seemed enough to make his heart
burst in his bosom. Alone he ascended the highest pinnacle
of the cathedral, and sat in what is called the neck, under the
crown, for a quarter of an hour before venturing to step out
again into the open air. Standing on a platform scarcely an
ell square, he saw before him a boundless prospect, the
church and the supports of his standing-place being con-
cealed by the ornaments. He felt exactly as if carried up

I770.] STRASBURG, 69

in a balloon. These painful sensations he repeated until
they became quite indifferent ; he subsequently derived great
advantage from this conquest in mountainous excursions and
geological studies. Anatomy was also of double value, as it
taught him to tolerate the most repulsive sights, while satisfy-
ing his thirst for knowledge. He succeeded so well, that no
hideous sight could disturb his self-possession. He also
sought to steel himself against the terrors of imagination.
The awful and shuddering impressions of darkness in church-
yards, solitary places, churches and chapels by night, he con-
trived to render indifferent, — so much so, that when a desire
came over him to recall in such scenes the pleasing shudder
of youth, he could scarcely succeed, even by the strangest
and most terrific images.

A handsome youth unable to dance was an anomaly in
Strasburg. Not a Sunday evening passed without the pleas-
ure-gardens being crowded with gay dancers ; galas frequently
enlivened the week ; and the merry Alsatians, then as now,
seldom met but they commenced spinning round in the waltz.
Into these gardens, amidst these waltzers, Goethe constantly
went, — yet could not waltz. He resolved at length to learn.
A friend recommended him to a dancing-master of repute,
who soon pronounced himself gratified with the progress
made.

This master, a dry, precise, but amiable Frenchman, had
two daughters, who assisted him at his lessons, acting both as
partners and correctors. Two pretty girls, both under twenty,
charming with French vivacity and coquetry, could not fail
to interest the young poet ; nor could the graceful, handsome
youth fail to create an impression on two girls whose lives
were somewhat lonesome. Symptoms of this interest very
soon showed themselves. The misfortune was that the state
of their feelings made what dramatists call a " situation."

70

THE STORY OF GOETHE^S LIFE. [book n.

Goethe's heart inclined towards Emilia, who loved another ;
while that of Lucinda, the elder sister, was bestowed upon
him. Emilia was afraid to trust herself too much with him ;
but Lucinda was always at hand, ready to waltz with him, to
protract his lesson, or to show him little attentions. There
were not many pupils ; so that he often remained after his
lesson to chat away the time, or to read aloud to them a
romance : dangerous moments !

He saw how things stood, yet puzzled himself about the
reserve of the younger sister. The cause of it came out at
last. One evening, after the dance was over, Lucinda de-
tained him in the dancing-room, telling him that her sister
was in the sitting-room with a fortune-teller, who was disclos-
ing the condition of a lover to whom the girl's heart was
given. " Mine," said Lucinda, " is free, and I must get used
to its being slighted."

He tried to parry this thrust by divers little compliments ;
and, indiscreetly enough, advised her to try her own fate with
the fortune-teller, oflfering to do the same himself. Lucinda
did not like that tampering with fate, declaring that the dis-
closures of the oracle were too true to be made a matter of
sport. Probably this piqued him into a little more earnest-
ness than he had shown, for ultimately he persuaded her to
go into the sitting-room with him. They found Emilia much
pleased with the information that she had received from tne
pythoness, who was highly flattered at the new devotee ta
her shrine. A handsome reward was promised her if she
should disclose the truth. With the customary ceremonial
she began to tell the fortune of the elder sister. She hes-
itated. " O, I see,*' said Emilia, " that you have somethmg
unpleasant to tell." Lucinda turned pale, but said, " Speak
out ; it will not cost me my life." The fortune-teller heaved
a deep sigh, and proceeded with her disclosures* LuciDda,

1770.] STRASBURG. 7 1

she saidy was in love \ but her love was not returned, •»
another person standing in the way. And she went on with
more in the same style. It is not difficult to imagine that
the sibyl should readily enough interpret the litde drama
which was then acting by the youth and two girls before
her eyes. Lucinda showed evidence of distress, and the old
woman endeavored to give a better turn to the affair by throw-
ing out hopes of letters and money. " Letters," said Lucinda,
" I do not expect, and money I do not want If I love as
you say, I have a right to be loved in return." The fortune-
teller shuffled the cards again, but that only made matters
worse \ the girl now appeared in the oracular vision in greater
trouble, her lover at a greater distance. A third shuffle of the
cards was still worse : Lucinda burst into a passionate flood
of tears, and rushed from the roouL "Follow her," said
Emilia, "and comfort her." But he hesitated, not seeing
what comfort he could well give, as he could not assure her
of some return for her affection. " Let us go together,"
he replied. Emilia doubted whether her presence would do
good ; but she consented. Lucinda had locked herself
in ; and paying the old woman for her work, Goethe left the
house.

He had scarcely courage to revisit the sisters ; but on the
third day Emilia sent for him, and he received his lesson as
usual. Lucinda, however, was absent, and when he asked
for her, Emilia told him that she was in bed, declaring that
she should die. She had thrown out great reproaches against
him for his ungrateful behavior. " And yet I do not know,"
said he, " that I am guilty of having expressed any sort of
affection for her. I know somebody who can bear me witness
of that" Emilia smiled. *' I comprehend," she said ; " but
if we are not careful we shall all find ourselves in a disas-
trous position. Forgive me if I say that you must not go on

72 THE STORY OF GOETHKS LIFE, [hook il

with your lessons. My father says that he is ashamed to
take your money any longer, unless you mean to pursue the
art of dancing, since you know already what is needed by a
young man in the world." "Do you tell me to avoid the
house, Emilia?*' he asked. "Yes," she said, "but not on
my own account. When you had gone the other day, I had
the cards cut for you, and the same answer was given thrice.
You were surrounded by friends, and all sorts of good for-
tune, but the ladies kept aloof from you : my poor sister
stood farthest of all. One other constantly came near to
you, but never close, for a third person, a man, always came
between. I will confess that I thought I was myself this
second lady, and now you will understand my advice. I
have promised myself to another, and until now I loved him
more than any one. Yet your presence might become more
dangerous to me than it has been, and then what a position
would be yours between two sisters, one of whom you would
have made miserable by your affection, and the other by your
coldness." She held out her hand and bade him farewell ;
she then led him to the door, and in token that it was to be
their last meeting, she threw herself upon his bosom and
kissed him tenderly. Just as she had put his arms round her,
a side door flew open, and her sister, in a light but decorous
dressing-gown, rushed in, crying, " You shall not be the only
one to take leave of him ! " Emilia released him. Lucinda
took him in her arms, pressed her black locks against his
cheeks, remained thus for some time, and then drawing back
looked him earnestly in the face. He took her hand and
tried to muster some kind expressions to soothe her, but she
turned away, walked passionately up and down the room, and
then threw herself in great agitation into a corner of the
sofa. Emilia went up to her, but was violently repulsed, and
a scene ensued which had in it, says the principal performer,

I770.1 STRASBURG, 73

nothing really theatrical, although it could only be represented
on the stage by an actor of sensibility. Lucinda poured forth
reproaches against her sister. " This," said she, " is not the
first heart-beating for me that you have wheedled away. Was
it not so with the one now betrothed to you, while I looked
on and bore it ? I, only, know the tears it cost me ; and
now you would rob me of this one. How many would you
manage to keep at once? I am frank and easy-tempered,
and all think they understand me at once, and may slight
me. You are secret and quiet, and make people wonder at
what may be concealed behind ; there is nothing there but a
cold, selfish heart, sacrificing everything to itself." Emilia
seated herself by her sister, and remained silent ; while
Lucinda, growing more excited, began to betray matters not
quite proper for him to hear. Emilia made a sign to him to
withdraw; but Lucinda caught the sound, sprang towards
him, and then remained lost in thought. "I know that I
have lost you," she said : " I claim you no more ; but neither
shall you have him." So saying, she grasped him wildly by
the head, with her hands thrust among his hair, pressed her
face to his, and kissed him repeatedly on the mouth. " Now
fear my curse ! Woe upon woe, for ever and ever, to her who
for the first time after me kisses these lips I Dare to sport
with him now ! Heaven hears my curse ! And you, begone,
begone while you may I "

He hurried from the house, never to return.

74 THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book li.

CHAPTER V.

HERDER AND FREDERIKA.

One thing very noticeable in this Strasburg period is the
thoroughly German culture it gave him. In those days cul-
ture was mostly classical and French. Classical studies had
never exercised much influence over him; and, indeed,
throughout his career, he approached antiquity more through
Art than through Literature. To the French, on the other
hand, he owed a great deal, both of direction and material
A revival of the old German nationality was, however,
actively agitated at this epoch. Klopstock, Lessing, Herder,
Shakespeare, and Ossian were the rivals opposed to France.
A feeling of national pride gave its momentum to this change
in taste. Gothic art began to be considered the true art of
modern times.

At the tabk'd'hbte our friends, all German, not only banished
the French language, but made a point of being in every way
unlike the French. French literature was ridiculed as affected,
insincere, unnatural. The truth, homely strength, and sim-
plicity of the German character were set against this literature
of courtiers. Goethe had been dabbling in mediaeval studies,
had been awe-struck by the cathedral, had been inspired
by Shakespeare, and had seen Lessing's iconoclastic wit
scattering the pretensions of French poetry. Moreover,
he had read the biography of Gotz von Berlichingen^ and the
picture of that Titan in an age of anarchy had so impressed
itself upon him, that the conception of a dramatic reproduc-
tion of it had grown up in his mind. * Faust also lay there as
a germ. The legend of that wonder-worker especially at-
tracted him, now that he was in the condition into which

I770] HERDER AND FREDERIKA, 75

youths so readily fall after a brief and unsatisfactory attempt to
penetrate the mysteries of science. " Like him, too, I had
swept the circle of science, and had early learned its vanity ;
like him, I had trodden various paths, always returning unsat-
isfied." The studies of alchemy, medicine, jurisprudence,
philosophy, and theology, which had so long engaged him,
made him feel a personal interest in the old Faust legend.

In such a mood the acquaintance with Herder was of great
unportance. Herder was five years his senior, and had
already created a name for himself. He came to Strasburg
with an eye-disease, which obliged him to remain there the
whole winter, during the cure. Goethe, charmed with this
new vigorous intellect, attended on him during the operation,
and sat with him morning and evening during his convales-
cence, listening to the wisdom which fell from his lips, as a
pupil listens to a much-loved master. Great.was the contrast
between the two men, yet the difference did not separate
them. Herder was decided, clear, pedagogic ; knowing his
own aims, and fond of communicating his ideas. Goethe
was sceptical and inquiring, Herder rude, sarcastic, and bit-
ter ; Goethe amiable and infinitely tolerant The bitterness
which repelled so many friends from Herder could not repel
Goethe : it was a peculiarity of his to be at all times able to
learn from antagonistic natures ; meeting them on the com-
mon ground of sympathy, he avoided those subjects on which
inevitably they must clash. It is somewhat curious that al'
though Herder took a great liking to his young friend, and
was grateful for his kind attentions, he seems to have had little
suspicion of his genius. The only fragment we have of that
period, which gives us a hint of his opinion, is in a letter to
his bride, dated February, 1772 : "Goethe is really a good
fellow, only somewhat light and sparrow-like,* for which I

• NuretwasleichtundSpcOunmassig: I translate the phrase, leaving

76 THE STORY OF GOETHE: S LIFE, [book ii.

incessantly reproach him. He was almost the only one who
visited me during my illness in Strasburg whom I saw with
pleasure ; and I believe I influenced him in more ways than
one to his advantage." His vanity may have stood between
Goethe and himself; or he may have been too conscious of
his young friend's defects to think much of his genius.
" Herder, Herder," Goethe writes to him from Strasburg, " be
to me what you are. If I am destined to be your planet, so
will I be, and willingly and truly, a friendly moon to your earth.
But you must feel that I would rather be Mercury, the last,
the smallest of the seven, to revolve with you about the sun,
than the first of the five which turn around Saturn."* In
his Autobiography^ he says, that he withheld from Herder his
intention of writing " Gotz " ; but there is a passage in Her-
der's work on German Art, addressed to Goethe, which very
plainly alludes to this intention, t Such oversights are inev-
itable in retracing the minor details of the past.

There was contrast enough between the two, in age, charac-
ter, intellect, and knowledge, to have prevented any very close
sympathy. Herder loved the abstract and ideal in men and
things, and was forever criticising and complaining of the indi-
vidual, because it did not realize the ideal standard. What
Gervinus says of Herder's relation to Lessing, namely, that
he loved him when he considered him as a whole, but could
never cease plaguing him about details, holds good also of

the reader to interpret it, for twenty Germans have given twenty different
meanings to the word "sparrow-like," some referring to the chattering of
sparrows, others to the boldness of sparrows, others to the curiosity of
sparrows, and others to the libertine character of sparrows. Whether
Herder meant gay, volatile, forward, careless, or amorous, I cannot
decide.

* Aus Herder's Nackhus, I. p. 28.

t Herder, Von deutschen Art und Kunsty p. X12.

I770.] HERDER AND FREDERIKA. 77

his relation to Goethe through life. Goethe had little of that
love of mankind in the abstract, which to Herder and so
many others seems the substitute for individual love, — which
animates philanthropists who are sincere in their philanthropy,
even when they are bad husbands, bad fathers, bad brothers,
and bad friends. He had, instead of this, keen sympathy
with individual men. His concrete and affectionate nature
was more attracted to men than to abstractions. It is because
his antagonists do not recognize this that they declaim against
his " indifference " to political wants, to history, and to m^ny
of the great questions which affect humanity.

Herder's influence on Goethe was manifold, but mainly in
the direction of poetry. He taught him to look at the Bible
as a magnificent illustration of the truth that poetry is the
product of a national spirit, not the privilege of a cultivated
few. From the poetry of the Hebrew people he led him to
other illustrations of national song, Homer and Ossian at
their head. It was at this time that Ossian made the tour
of Europe, and everywhere met believers. Goethe was so
delighted with the wild northern singer, that he translated
the song of "Selma," and afterwards incorporated it in
Werther, Besides Shakespeare and Ossian, he also learned
through Herder to appreciate the Vicar of Wakefield; and
the exquisite picture there painted, he was now to see living
in the parsonage of Frederika's father.

Upon the broad and lofty gallery of the Strasburg Cathe-
dral he and his companions often met " to salute the setting
sun with brimming goblets of Rhine wine.*' The calm wide
landscape stretched itself for miles before them, and they
pointed out the several spots which memory endeared to
each. One spot, above all others, has interest for us, —
Sesenheim, the home of Frederika. Of all the women who
enjoyed the distinction of Goethe's love, none have been

78 THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book ii.

made so fascinating as Frederika. Her idyllic presence is
familiar to every lover of Cxeman literature, through the
charming episode of the Autobiography , over which the poet
lingered with peculiar delight The secretary to whom this
episode was dictated, told me how much affected Goethe
seemed to be as these scenes revisited memory ; walking up
and down the room, with his hands behind him, he often
stopped in his walk, and paused in the dictation : then after
a long silence, followed by a deep sigh, he continued the
narrative in a lower tone.

Weyland, a fellow-boarder, had often spoke of a clergyman
who, with his wife and two amiable daughters, lived near
Drusenheim, a village about sixteen miles from Strasburg.
Early in October, 1770, Weyland proposed to his friend to
accompany him on a visit to the worthy pastor. It was agreed
between them that Weyland shpuld introduce him under the
guise of a shabby theological student His love of incognito
often prompted him to such disguises. In the present in-
stance he borrowed some old clothes, and combed his hair in
such a way that when Weyland saw him he burst out into a fit of
laughter. They set forth in high glee. At Drusenheim they
stopped, Weyland to make himself spruce, Goethe to rehearse
his part Riding across the meadows to Sesenheim, they left
their horses at the inn, and walked leisurely towards the par-
sonage, — an old and somewhat dilapidated farm-house, but
very picturesque, and very still. They found Pastor Brion at
home, and were welcomed by him in a friendly manner. The
rest of the family were in the fields. Weyland went after
them, leaving Goethe to discuss parish interests with the pas-
tor, who soon grew confidential. Presently the wife ap-
peared ; and she was followed by the eldest daughter bouncing
into the room, inquiring after Frederika, and hurrying away
Again to seek her.

I770.J HERDER AND FREDERIKA. 79

Refreshments were brought, and old acquaintances were
talked over with Weyland, — Goethe listening. Then the
daughter returned, uneasy at not having found Frederika. This
little domestic fuss about Frederika prepared the poet for her
appearance. At length she came in. Both girls wore the
national costume, with its short, white, full skirt and fur-
below, not concealing the neatest of ankles, a tight bodice
and black taffeta apron. Frederika's straw hat hung on her
arm ; and the beautiful braids of her fair hair drooped on a
delicate white neck. Merry blue eyes, and a piquant little
nez retroussk completed her attractions. In gazing on this
bright young creature, then only sixteen, Goethe felt ashamed
of the disguise. It hurt his amour-propre to appear thus
before her like a bookish student, shorn of all personal ad-
vantages. Meanwhile conversation rattled on between Wey-
land and the family. Endless was the list of uncles, aunts,
nieces, cousins, gossips, and guests they had something to
say about, leaving him completely excluded from the conver-
sation. Frederika, seeing this, seated herself by him, and
with charming frankness began to talk to him. Music was
lying on the harpsichord ; she asked him if he played, and on
his modestly qualified affirmative, begged him "to favor
them." Her father, however, suggested that she ought to
begin, by a song. She sat down to the harpsichord, which
was somewhat out of tune, and, in a provincial style, per-
formed several pieces, such as then were thought enchanting.
After this she began to sing. The song was tender and
melancholy, but she was apparently not in the mood, for,
acknowledging her feilure, she rose and said, " If I sing badly
it is not the fault of my harpsichord nor of my teacher : let us
go into the open air, and then you shall hear my Alsatian and
Swiss songs." Into the air they went, and soon her merry
voice carolled forth : —

8o THE STORY OF GOETHE'S UFE, [book il

*' I come from a forest as dark as the night,
And believe me, I love thee, my only delight
£1 ja, ei ja, ei, ei, ei, ei, ja, ja, ja ! " *

He was already a captive.

His tendency to see pictures and poetry in the actual
scenes of life here made him see realized the Wakefield
family. If Pastor Brion did not accurately represent Mr.
Primrose, yet he might stand for him ; the elder daughter for
Olivia, the younger for Sophia ; and when at supper a youth
came into the room, Goethe involuntarily exclaimed, " What,
Moses, too I " A very merry supper they had ; so merry that
Weyland, fearing lest wine and Frederika should make his
friend betray himself, proposed a walk in the moonlight
Weyland offered his arm to Salome, the elder daughter
(alwkys named Olivia in the Autobiography)^ Frederika took
Goethe's arm. Youth and moonlight, — need one say more ?
Already he began to scrutinize her tone in speaking of cousins
and neighbors, jealous lest it should betray an affection. But
her blithe spirit was as yet untroubled, and he listened in de-
licious silence to her unembarrassed loquacity.

On retiring for the night the friends had much to talk over.
Weyland assured him the incognito had not been betrayed ;
on the contrary, the family had inquired after the young
Goethe, of whose joviality and eccentricities they had often
heard. And now came the tremulous question : was Fred-
erika engaged ? No. That was a relief I Had she ever
been in love? No. Still better I Thus chatting, they sat
till deep in the night, as friends chat on such occasions, with
hearts too full and brains too heated for repose. At dawn
Goethe was awake, impatient to see Frederika with the dew
of morning on her cheek. While dressing he looked at his

* The entire song is to be found in the Sesenheimer Liederbuch^ and in
ViEHOFF, Goethe Erldutert, Vol. I. p. no.

I770 1 HERDER AND FREDERIKA. gl

costume in disgust, and tried in vain to remedy it His hair
could, be managed ; but when his arms were thrust into his
threadbare coat, the sleeves of which were ludicrously short,
he looked pitiable ; Weyland, peeping at him from under the
coverlet, giggled. In his despair he resolved to ride back to
Strasburg, and return in his own costume. On the way an-
other plan suggested itself. He exchanged clothes with the
son of the landlord at the Drusenheim inn, a youth of his
own size ; corked his eyebrows, imitated the son's gait and
speech, and returned to the parsonage the bearer of a cake.-
This second disguise also succeeded, so long as he kept at a
distance; but Frederika running up to him and saying,
" George, what do you here ? " he was forced to reveal him-
self. " Not George, but one who asks forgiveness." " You
shocking creature!" she exclaimed, "how you frightened
me ! " The jest was soon explained and forgiven, not only
by Frederika, but by the family, who laughed heartily at it.

Gayly passed the day ; the two hourly falling deeper and
deeper in love. Passion does not chronicle by time : mo-
ments are hours, hours years, when two hearts are rushing
into one. It matters little, therefore, that the Autobiography
speaks of only two days passed in this happy circle, whereas
a letter of his says distinctly he was there " some days —
einige Tage " {less than three cannot be understood by einige).
He was there long enough to fall in love, and to captivate the
whole family by his gayety, obligingness, and poetic gifts.
He had given them a taste of his quality as a romancist, by
telling the story of The New Melusina (subsequently pub-
lished in the Wanderjahre), He had also interested him-
self in the pastor's plans for the rebuilding of the parsonage,
and proposed to take away the sketches with him to Stras-
burg.

The pain of separation was lightened by the promise of

$2 TH^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE, [book ii.

Speedy reunion. He returned to Strasburg with new life in
his heart. He had not long before written to a friend that
for the first time he knew what it was to be happy without
his heart being engaged. Pleasant people and manifold
studies left him no time ioi feeling. "Enough, my present
life is like a sledge journey, splendid and sounding, but with
just as little for the heart as it has much for eyes and ears."
Another tone runs through his letters now, to judge from the
only one which has been recovered.* It is addressed to
Frederika, dated the 15th October : —

*' Dear new Friend, — I dare to call you so ; for if I can
trust the language of eyes, then did mine in the first glance
read the hope of this new friendship in yours ; and for our
hearts I will answer. You, good and gentle as I know you,
will you not show some favor to one who loves you so ?

" Dear, dear friend : —

" That I have something to say to you there can be no
question ; but it is quite another matter whether I exactly
know wherefore I now write, and what I may write. Thus
much I am conscious of by a certain inward unrest, — that I
would gladly be by your side ; and a scrap of paper is as
true a consolation and as winged a steed for me here, in
noisy Strasburg, as it can be to you in your quiet, if you truly
feel the separation from your friend.

" The circumstances of our journey home you can easily
imagine, if you marked my pain at parting, and how I longed
to remain behind. Weyland's thoughts went forwards, mine
backwards ; so you can understand how our conversation
was neither interesting nor copious.

• ScHoLL, Brufe und Aufsatze, p. 51. The letters in Pfeiffer*s book
are manifest forgeries.

I770.] HERDER AND FREDERIKA. gj

" At the end of the Wanzenau we thought to shorten our
route, and found ourselves in the midst of a morass. Night
came on ; and we only needed the storm which threatened to
overtake us, to have had every reason for being fully con-
vinced of the love and constancy of our princesses.*

" Meanwhile, the scroll which I held constantly in my
hand — fearful of losing it — was a talisman, which charmed
away all the perils of the journey. And now ? — O, I dare
not utter it, — either you can guess it, or you will not be-
lieve it.

" At last we arrived, and our first thought, which had been
our joy on the road, was the project soon to see you again.

" How delicious a sensation is the hope of seeing again
those we love ! And we, when our coddled heart is a little
sorrowful, at once bring it medicine and say : Dear little
heart, be quiet, you will not long be away from her you love ;
be quiet, dear little heart ! Meanwhile we give it a chimera
to play with, and then is it good and still as a child to whom
the mother gives a doll instead of the apple which it must
not eat.

" Enough, we are not here, and so you see you were wrong.
You would not believe that the noisy gayety of Strasburg
would be disagreeable to me after the sweet country pleasures
enjoyed with you. Never, Mamsell, did Strasburg seem so
empty to me as now. I hope, indeed, it will be better when
the remembrance of those charming hours is a little dimmed,
— when I no longer feel so vividly how good, how amiable
my friend is. Yet ought I to forget that, or to wish it ? No ;
I will rather retain a little sorrow and write to you frequently.

" And now, many, many thanks and many sincere remem-

* An allusion doubtless intelligible to the person addressed, but I can
make nothing of it

84 "^HE STORY OF GOETff£PS LIFE, [book IL

brances to your dear parents. To your dear sister many
hundred .... what I would so willingly give you again ! '*

A few days after his return, Herder undenvent the opera-
tion previously alluded to. Goethe was constantly with him ;
but as he carefully concealed all his mystical studies, fearing
to have them ridiculed, so one may suppose he concealed
also the new passion which deliciously tormented Jiim. In
silence he occupied himself with Frederika, and carefully
sketched plans for the new parsonage. He sent her books,
and received from her a letter, which of course seemed
priceless.

In November he was again at Sesenheim. Night had
already set in when he arrived ; his impatience would not
suffer him to wait till morning, the more so as the landlord
assured him the young ladies had only just gone home, where
" they expected some one." He felt jealous of this expected
friend, and he hastened to the parsonage. Great was his sur-
prise to find them nof surprised ; greater still to hear Fred-
erika whisper, "Did I not Say so? Here he is!" Her
loving heart had prophesied his coming, and had named the
very day.

The next day was Sunday, and many guests were expected.
Early in the morning Frederika proposed a walk with him,
leaving her mother and sister to look after domestic prepara-
tions. In that walk the youthful pair abandoned themselves
without concealment to all the delightful nothings of newly
awakened love. They talked over the expected pleasures of
the day, and arranged how to be always together. She
taught him several games ; he taught her others ; and under-
neath these innocent arrangements, Love serenely smiled.
The church bell called them from their walk. To church they
went^ and listened — not very attentively — to the worthy pas-

I77I] HERDER AND FREDERIKA. 8$

tor. Another kind of devotion made their hearts devout.
He meditated on her charming qualities, and as his glance
rested on her ruddy lips, he recalled the last time woman's
lips had been pressed "to his own ; recalled the curse which
the excited French girl had uttered, a curse which hitherto
had acted like a spell.

This superstition not a little troubled him in games of for-
feits, where kisses always form a large proportion ; and his
presence of mind was often tried in the attempts to evade
them ; the more so as many of the guests, suspecting the ten-
der relation between him and Frederika, sportively took every
occasion to make them kiss. She, with natural instinct, aided
him in his evasions. The time came, however, when, carried
away by the excitement of the dance and games, he felt the
burning pressure of her lips crush the superstition in a

" Kiss, a long, long kiss
Of youth and beauty gathered into one."

He returned to Strasburg, if not a formally betrothed, yet
an accepted lover. As such the family and friends seem to
have regarded him. Probably no betrothal took place, on
account of his youth, and the necessity of obtaining his
father's .consent. His muse, lately silent, now found voice
again, and several of the poems Frederika inspired are to be
read in his published works.*

He had been sent to Strasburg to gain a doctor's degree.
His Dissertation had been commenced just before this Sesen.
heim episode. But Shakespeare, Ossian, Faust^ GotZy and,
above all, Frederika, scattered his plans, and he followed the
advice of friends, to choose, instead of a Dissertation, a num-
ber of Theses, upon which to hold a disputation. His father

* The whole have been reprinted in the Sesenheimer Liederbuch ; and
in ViEHOFF's Goethe Brlautert,

THE STORY OF GOETHE^ S UFE, [book il

brxrort to your dear parents. To your dear sister many
Kr*ircJ .... what I would so willingly give you again!"

A few da)-s after his return. Herder underwent the opera-
:. - : Tx ^hinIv alluded to. Goethe was constantiy with him;
V-t as he carefully concealed ail his mystical studies, fearing
t? ^.a^T ih'.in ridiculed, so one may suppose he concealed
*.wi t: e new pxs2»ion which deliciously tormented iim. In
fc.^-«cic he occupied himself with Frederika, and carefully
>^r- "rd f .ar.s for the new parsonage. He sent her books,
mr-c ?r.e%cd from her a letter, which of course seemed

It N.-mrrr^ieT he was again at Sesenheim. Night had
m.-r^ M sc-: la »hen be arrived ; his impatience would not
$:J\r h.rt :;* wait till morning, the more so as the landlord
«i.<:-rc r^a :': e ycicng ladies had only yxsX gone home, where
• :^?- t r^rrrj-i s^-roe one.- He felt jealous of this ti^^
Tx. r.^ ar^ fte hastened to the parsonage. Great was his sur-
r-^ \t nni iSeta m^ surprised ; greater still to hear Fred-
r-^ »r.:>^t^, ^-I^.i I not say so? Here he is!" Her
o X ^ir haiiropbesicd his coming, and bad DameJrfie

1: Hi"

t ^ •

■T cit was Suniar. and many guests were <

.V nvi-r.;:;r Fr^ierika prop^ a walk with him,

r :nn:x- an^ ssra- to look after domestic prepara-

:ru wu:^ rrif v.x:±ful pair abandoned themselves
■n,- --in.*n: ir ii: rbe deliiihtfjl nothings of newly
. --r ^.- Tilki'i c-rer the expected pleasures of
i-^ ---v.vv low T.-^ be arrays together. She

<Mv-^ -anv-. hf it^idc te odios; and voder-
. n-.vv a-.;rc^nje^ low serenely smiled.

yr-

X77I.] HERDER AND FREDEKIK..

tor. Another kind of devotion made thtr" inr^-
He meditated on her charming quaiiiit^, a- . .
rested on her ruddy lips, he recaiieL u.-. ij u —
lips had been pressed to his own ; r^'jiui-. . t ♦- •-;
the excited French girl had utterei* a cu-?rr v
had acted like a spelL

This superstition not a littie trot:>t-: - -^^

feits, where kisses always form l r^'^- :• ■•,•
presence of mind was oftci- trtt: r t - ^ -
them ; the more so as many c: u-- ;.--'r" r . —
der relation between him an: r .•^♦.•tr.i _ - -
occasion to make them kisi bi- -. t»
him in his evasions. Tne tm-r -jiii- . -i—- '^-
away by the excitement c Ur u*: . -. ^ ^ ^
burning pressure of iier i\\,^ t:!u.. ..". -^--

I

Of yontL an: 4««tu

He returned tc* StrasL^v.*, i-
an accepted lover, a j>f_ ^
have r^farded inn., t-i-^-^^, ^

account of liis >'uut:- ^i- ^ ^^
Other's consent Hi m.^ ^. ^,

again, and severs c u^ ^.--i ,

read in his publisinr. l^ ••: ; - -

He had beer Mni i - .
His Dissertatitn v^\ ^^ ^.. . ^ -
heim episode. !>:: .-.-i--..^-
above all, Freotrit.., -^. ^^

advice <3^ frienini i ^^ . _.^ ^ le ap-

ber of Tbesa,i|to^ . cepted

^ ^ y herself

S6 THE STORY OF GOETHE* S LIFE, [book ii.

would not hear of such a thing, but demanded a regular Dis-
sertation. He chose, therefore, this theme, " Thai it is the
duty of every law-maker to establish a certain religious worship
binding upon clergy and laityP A theme he supported by his-
torical and philosophical arguments. The Dissertation was
written in Latin, and sent to his father, who received it with
pleasure. But thfe dean of the faculty would not receive it, —
either because its contents were paradoxical, or because it
was not sufficiently erudite. In lieu thereof he was permit-
ted to chopse Theses for disputation. The Disputation was
held on the 6th of August, 1771, his opponent being Franz
Lerse, who pressed him hard. A jovial Schmaus, a real stu-
dents' banquet, crowned this promotion of Dr. Goethe.*

He could find no time for visits to Sesenheim during this
active preparation for his doctorate ; but lie was not entirely
separated from Frederika : her mother had come with both
daughters to Strasburg, on a visit to a rich relative. He had
been for some time acquainted with this family, and had many
opportunities of meeting his beloved. The girls, who came
in their Alsatian costume, found their cousins and friends
dressed like Frenchwomen ; a contrast which greatly vexed
Olivia, who felt " like a maid-servant *' among these fashion-
able friends. Her restless manners evidently made Goethe
somewhat ashamed of her. Frederika, on the other hand,
though equally out of her element in this society, was more
self-possessed, and perfectly contented so long as he was by
her side. There is in the Autobiography a significant phrase :
this visit of the family is called a "peculiar test of his love."
And test it was, as every one must see who considers the rela-
tions in which the lovers stood. He was the son of an im-

* There is some obscurity on this point. From a letter to Salzmann,
it seems he only got a licentiate degree at this time. The doctorate he
certainly had ; but when his diploma was prepared is not known.

I77I] HERDER AND FREDERIKA, 8/

portant Frankfurt citizen, and held almost the position of a
nobleman in relation to the poor pastor's daughter. Indeed,
the social disparity was so great, that many explain his not
marrying Frederika on the ground of such a match being
impossible, — " his father," it is said, " would not have lis-
tened to such a thing for a moment." Love in nowise troubles
itself about station, never asks, " What will the world say ? "
but there is quite a different solicitude felt by Love when ap-
proaching Marriage. In the first eagerness of passion a
prince may blindly pursue a peasant, but when his love is
gratified by return, when reflection reasserts its duties, then
the prince will consider what will be the estimation of his
mistress in other minds. Men are very sensitive to the opin-
ions of others on their mistresses and wives, and Goethe's
love must indeed have been put to the test, on seeing Fred-
erika and her sister thus in glaring contrast with the society in
which he moved. In the groves of Sesenheim she was a
wood-nymph, but in Strasburg salons the wood-nymph seemed
a peasant. Who is there that has not experienced a similar
destruction of illusion, in seeing an admired person lose al-
most all charm in the change of environment ?

Frederika laid her sweet commands on him one evening,
and bade him entertain the company by reading Hamlet aloud.
He did so, to the great enjoyment of all, especially Frederika,
" who from time to time sighed deeply, and a passing color
tinged her cheeks." Was she thinking of poor Ophelia, —
placing herself in that forlorn position ?

" For Hamlet and the trifling of his favor,
Hold it a fashion and a toy in blood ! "

She may have had some presentiment of her fate. The ap-
plause, however, which her lover gained was proudly accepted
by her, " and in her graceful manner she did not deny herself
the little pride of having shone through him."

88 THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE, [boo« li.

The mention of Hamlet leads us naturally into the society
where he sought oblivion, when Frederika quitted Strasburg.
Her departure, he confesses, was a relief to him. She her-
self felt on leaving that the end of their romance was ap-
proaching. He plunged into gayety to drown tormenting
thoughts. " If you could but see me," he wrote to Salzmann,
after describing a dance which had made him foiget his fever :
" my whole being was sunk in dancing. And yet could I but
say, I am happy; that would be better than all. *Who is*t
can say I am at the worst?' says Edgar (in Lear), That is
some comfort, dear friend. My heart is like a weathercock
when a storm is rising, and the gusts are changeable.'* Some
days later he wrote : " All is not clear in my soul. I am too
curiously awake not to feel that I grasp at shadows. And
yet ... . To-morrow at seven my horse is saddled, and then
adieu ! **

Besides striving to drown in gayety these tormenting
thoughts, he also strove to divert them into channels of
nobler activity; stimulated thereto by the Shakespearian
fanaticism of his new friend Lenz.

Reinhold Lenz, irrevocably forgotten as a poet, whom a
vain effort on the part of Gruppe has tried to bring once more
into public favor,* is not without interest to the student of
German literature during the Sturm und Drang period. He
came to Strasburg in 1770, accompanying two young noble-
men as their tutor, and mingling with them in the best society
of the place ; and, by means of Salzmann, was introduced to
the Club. Although he had begun by translating Pope's
Essay on Criticism^ he was, in the strictest sense of the word,
one of the Shakespeare bigots, who held to the severest ortho-
doxy on Shakespeare as a first article of their creed, and who
not only maintained the Shakespeare clowns to be incom-
• Gruppe, Reinhotd Lenz^ Lehen und Werke^ 1861.

I77I] HERDER AND FREDERIKA, gg

parable, but strove to imitate them in their language. Many
an extravagant jest and many an earnest discussion served to
vary the hours. It is not easy for us to imagine the effect
which the revelation of such a mind as Shakespeare's must
have produced on the young Germans. His profundity of
thought, originality and audacity of language, his beauty,
pathos, sublimity, his wit and overflowing humor, and the
accuracy of his observation as well as depth of insight into
the mysteries of passion and character, were qualities which
no false criticism, and, above all, no national taste, prevented
Germans from appreciating. It was very different in France.
There an established form of art, with which national pride
was identified, and an established set of critical rules, upon
which Taste securely rested, necessarily made Shakespeare
appear like a Cyclops of Genius, — a monster, though of
superhuman proportions. Frenchmen could not help being
shocked at many things in Shakespeare ; yet even those who
were most outraged, were also most amazed at the pearls to
be found upon the dunghill. In Germany the pearls alone
were seen. French taste had been pitilessly ridiculed by
Lessing. The French Tragedy had been contrasted with
Shakespeare, and pronounced unworthy of comparison. To
the Germans, therefore, Shakespeare was a standard borne by
all who combated against France, and his greatness was
recognized with something of wilful preference. The state
of German literature also rendered his influence the more
prodigious. Had Shakespeare been first revealed to us when
Mr. Hayley was the great laureate of the age, we should have
felt something of the eagerness with which the young and
ardent minds of Germany received this greatest poet of all
ages.

Three forms rise up from out the many influences of Stras-
burg into distinct and memorable importance, — Frederika, —

go THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book ii.

Herder, the Cathedral. A charming woman, a noble thinker,
and a splendid monument, were his guides into the regions
of Passion, Poetry, and Art. The influence of the cathedral
was great enough to make him write the little tractate on
German architecture, D, M, Erwini d Steinbach ; the enthu-
siasm of which was so incomprehensible to him in after
years, that he was with difficulty persuaded to reprint the
tractate among his works. Do we not see here — as in so
many other traits — how different the youth is from the child
and man ?

Inasmuch as in England many professed admirers of
architecture appear imperfectly acquainted with the revival
of the taste for Gothic art, it may not be superfluous to call
attention to the fact that Goethe was among the very first to
recognize the peculiar beauty of that style, at a period when
classical, or pseudo-classical taste was everywhere dominant
It appears that he was in friendly correspondence with Sulpiz
Boisser^e, the artist who made the restored design of the
Cologne Cathedral ; from whom he doubtless learned much.
And we see by the Wahlverwandtschaften that he had a port-
folio of designs illustrative of the principle of the pointed
style. This was in 1809, when scarcely any one thought of
the Gothic ; long before Victor Hugo had written his Notre
Dame de Paris ; long before Pugin and Ruskin had thrown
their impassioned energy into this revival ; at a time when
the church in Langham Place was thought beautiful, arid the
Temple Church was considered an eyesore.

And now he was to leave Strasburg, — to leave Frederika.
Much as her presence had troubled him of late, in her ab-
sence he only thought of her fascinations. He had not
ceased to love her, though he already felt she never would be
his. He went to say adieu. " Those were painful days, of
which I remember nothing. When I held out my hand to

I77I-1 HERDER AND FREDERIKA. 91

her from my horse, the tears were in her eyes, and I felt sad
at heart. As I rode along the footpath to Drusenheim a
strange fantasy took hold of me. I saw in my mind'? eye
my own figure riding towards me, attired in a dress I had
never worn, — pike-gray with gold lace. I shook off this
fantasy, but eight years afterwards I found myself on the very
road, going to visit Frederika, and that too in the very dress
which I had seen myself in, in this phantasm, although my
wearing it was quite accidental." The reader will probably
be somewhat sceptical respecting the dress, and will suppose
that this prophetic detail was afterwards transferred to the
vision by the imagination of later years.*

* The correspondence with the Frau von Stein contains a letter writ-
ten by him a day or two after this visit, but, singularly enough, no men-
tion of this coincidence.

BOOK THE THIRD.

I77I TO 1775.

CHAPTER I.

DR. GOETHE's return.

On the 25th or 28th of August, 1771, he quitted Strasx
burg. His way led through Mannheim ; and there he was
first thrilled by the beauty of ancient masterpieces, some of
which he saw in plaster-cast Whatever might be his predi-
lection for Gothic Art, he could not view these casts without
feeling himself in presence of an Art in its way also divine ;
and his previous study of Lessing lent a peculiar interest to
the Laokoon group, now before his eyes.

Passing on to Mainz he fell in with a young wandering
harpist, and invited the ragged minstrel to Frankfurt, prom-
ising him a lodging in his fathers house. It was lucky that
he thought of acquainting his mother with this invitation.
Alarmed at its imprudence, she secured a lodging in the
town, and so the boy wanted neither shelter nor patronage.

Rath Goethe was not a little proud of the young Doctor.
He was also not a little disturbed by the young Doctor*i5 man-
ners ; and often shook his ancient respectable head at opin-
ions which exploded like bombshells in the midst of quiet
circles. Doctoral gravity was but slightly attended to by this
young hero of the Sturm und Drang, The revolutionary
movement known by the title of the Storm and Stress was
then about to astonish Germany, and to startle all con-
ventions, by works such as Gerstenberg's Ugolino, Goethe's

I77I] ^R' GOETHE'S RETURN. ^3

Gotz von Berlichingen^ and Klinger's Sturm und Drang (from
whence the name). The wisdom and extravagance of that
age united in one stream : the masterly criticisms of Lessing,
— the enthusiasm for Shakespeare, — the mania for Ossian and
the northern mythology, — the revival of ballad literature, —
and imitations of Rousseau, — all worked in one rebellious
current against established authority. There was one uni-
versal shout for Nature. With the young, Nature seemed to
be a compound of volcanoes and moonlight ; her force ex-
plosion, her beauty sentiment To be insurgent and senti-
mental, explosive and lachrymose, were the true signs of
genius. Everjthing established was humdrum. Genius, abhor-
rent of humdrum, would neither spell correctly, nor write cor-
rectly, nor demean itself correctly. It would be Germany —
lawless, rude, and natural. Lawless it was, and rude it was, —
but natural ? Not according to Nature of any reputable type.

It is not easy, in the pages of the Autobiography ^ to detect
in Goethe an early leader of the Sturm und Drang; but it
is easy enough to detect this in other sources. Here is a
glimpse, in a letter from Mayer of Lindau (one of the Stras-
burg set) to Salzmann, worth chapters of the Autobiography
on such a point. " O Corydon^ Corydon, qucR te dementia
cepit ! According to the chain in which our ideas are Unked
together, Corydon and dementia put me in mind of the ex-
travagant Goethe. He is still at Frankfurt, is he not ? "

That such a youth, whose wildness made friends nickname
him the " bear " and the " wolf," could have been wholly
pleasing to his steady, formal father, is not to be expected.
Yet the worthy sire was not a little proud of his son's attain-
ments. The verses, essays, notes, and drawings which had
accumulated during the residence in Strasburg were very
gratifying to him. He began to arrange them with scrupu-
lous n'eatness, hoping to see them shortly published. But the

QA THE STORY OF GOETHM^S LIFE. [book hi.

poet had a virtue, perhaps of all virtues the rarest in youthful
writers, — a reluctance to appear in print Seeing, as we
daily see, the feverish alacrity with which men accede tcr
that extremely imaginary constraint, the " request of friends,"
and dauntlessly rush into print, — seeing the obstinacy with
which they cling to all they have written, and insist on wha^
they have written being printed, — Goethe's reluctance de
mands an explanation. And, if I may interpret according
tomy own experience, the explanation is, that his delight io
composition was rather the pure delight of intellectual aa
tivity, than a delight in the result : delight, not in the ivork^
but in the working. Thus, no sooner had he finished a poem
than his interest in it began to fade ; and he passed on to
another. Thus it was that he left so many works fragments,
his interest having been exhausted before the whole was
completed.

He had a small circle of literary friends to whom he com-
municated his productions, and this was publication enough
for him. We shall see him hereafter, in Weimar, writing
solely for a circle of friends, and troubling himself scarcely
at all about a public. It was necessary for him to occupy
himself with some work which should absorb him, as Gotz
did at this time, for only in work could he forget the pain, al-
most remorse, which followed his renunciation of Frederika,
If at Strasburg he had felt that an end was approaching to
this sweet romance, at Frankfurt, among family connections,
and with new prospects widening before him,, he felt it still
more. He wrote to her. Unhappily that letter is not pre-
served. It would have made clear much that is now con-
jectural. " Frederika's answer," he says, " to the letter in
which I had bidden her adieu, tore my heart I now, for the
first time, became aware of her bereavement, and saw no
possibility of alleviating it She was ever in my thoughts ;

1771-1 ^^- GOETHE'S RETURN, 95

I felt that she was wanting to me ; and, worst of all, I could
not forgive myself ! Gretchen had been taken from me ;
Annchen had left me ; but now, for the first time, I was
guilty ; I had wounded, to its very depths, one of the most
beautiful and tender of hearts. And that period of gloomy
repentance, bereft of the love which had so invigorated me,
was agonizing, insupportable. But man will live ; and hence
I took a sincere interest in others, seeking to disentangle
their embarrassments, and to unite those about to part, that
they might not feel what I felt. Hence I got the name of
the * Confidant,' and also, on account of my wanderings, I
was named the * Wanderer.' Under the broad open sky, on
the heights or in the valleys, in the fields and through the
woods, my mind regained some of its calmness. I almost
lived on the road, wandering between the mountains and the
plains. Often I went, alone or in company, right through my
native city as though I were a stranger in it, dining at one of
the great inns in the High Street, and after dinner pursuing
my way. I turned more than ever to the open world and to
Nature ; there alone I found comfort. During my walks I
sang to myself strange hymns and dithyrambs. One of
these, the Wanderer's S urmlied^ still remains. I remember
singing it aloud in an impassioned style amid a terrific storm.
The burden of this rhapsody is that a man of genius must
walk resolutely through the storms of life, relying solely on
himself" ; a burden which seems to give expression to what
he then felt respecting his relation to Frederika.

Although we have no exact knowledge of the circum-
stances, from the height of which to judge his conduct, the
question must be put. Why did he not marry Frederika ? It
is a question often raised, and as often sophistically answered.
By one party he is angrily condemned ; disingenuously ab^
solved by another. But he himself acknowledged his fault

g6 THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE, [book hi.

He himself never put forth any excuse. He does not hint
at disparity of station, he does not say there were objections
from his parents. He makes no excuse, but confesses the
wrong, and blames himself without sophistication. Yet the
excuses he would not suggest, partisans have been eager to
suggest for him. Some have sought far and wide in the
gutters of scandal for materials of defence. One gets up a
story about Frederika being seduced by a Catholic priest ;
whence it is argued that Goethe could not be expected to
marry one so frail ; whence also it follows, by way of counter-
blast, that it was his desertion which caused her fall.* The
basis of fact on which this lie is reared (there is usually some
basis, even for the wildest lies), b that Frederika brought up
the orphan child of her sister Salome.

Let me endeavor, without sophistication, to state the case,
at least as far as the imperfect evidence admits of a judg-
ment. It seems to have been forgotten by most writers who
have discussed this topic, that our judgment is misled by
the artistic charm which Goethe has thrown over the narra-
tive : we fail to separate the Fact from the Fiction ; we read
the poem he has made up from his early experience, and read
it as if the poem were an unvarnished record of that experi-
ence. He has painted Frederika so charmingly ; he has told
the story of their simple youthful love with so much grace,
and quiet emotion ; he has made us believe so entirely in the
Idyl, that our sympathies are rudely disturbed when we find
the Idyl is not to end in a marriage.

But if we consider the case calmly, divesting it, as much as
possible, of the illusive suggestions of romance, we may,
perhaps, come to the conclusion, that it was, after all, only a
" love affair " between a boy and a girl, a temporary fascina-

* Strangely enough, although Goethe read the MS. in which Nake re-
peats this story, he takes no notice of it.

1771] DR. GOETHE'S RETURN. 97

tjon, such as often stirs the afifections of youth, without deep-
ening into serious thought of marriage. Doubtless the reader
can from his or her own history rapidly recall such an experi-
ence ; certainly the experience of their friends will supply
such cases. If we read the story in this light all is clear.
The boy and girl are fascinated by each other ; they look
into each other's eyes, and are happy ; they walk together,
talk together, and, when separated, think of each other. But
they never think of marriage ; or think of it vaguely as a re-
mote contingency. Young love's dream is enough for them.
They are pained at parting ; perhaps all the more so, because
they dimly feel that the awakening is at hand. But there is
a sort of tacit understanding that marriage is not the issue to
be looked for. Had any one hinted to either Goethe or
Frederika that their passion was but a " youthful stirring of
the blood,*' and not an eternal union of souls, they would
assuredly have resented it with emphatic denial. Yet so it
was. Goethe soon consoled himself; and there is positive
evidence tha? Frederika, shortly afterwards, allowed herself to
be consoled by Lenz.

Such, after mature deliberation, I believe to have been the
real story. When in old age Goethe, reviewing the pleasant
dreams of youth, and weaving them into an artistic narrative,
avowedly half fiction, came to that episode with Frederika,
he thought of it as we all think of our early loves, with a
mingled tenderpess and pain ; his imagination was kindled,
and he turned his experience into a poem. But the fact thus
idealized was a very ordinary fact ; the story thus poetized
was a very common story, and could be told by ninety out of
every hundred students, who do not marry the idol of the
last university term. That Goethe, with his affectionate,
sensitive nature, was for a time in love with Frederika, is
possible. It is certain that whatever the agitatipn of his

^8 THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE, [book iin

feelings, they were not deeply moved ; she had laid no firm
hold of his soul ; there were none of those ties between
them which grow stronger with advancing time.

No sooner had he made this decisively clear to himself^
than he wrote to Frederika to tell her so. No woman can be
given up without feeling pain, and probably Frederika's affec-
tions were far more deeply engaged than his were; never-
theless, in spite of the pain she doubtless felt, and patheti-
cally expressed in her letter to him, we find her presently
engaged in another " love affair," with the poet Lenz, which,
though it ended in a breach, certainly went so far as the
exchange of vows ; and, according to Lenz, the growth of
the passion was rapid. "It was with us both,*' he writes to
his friend, " as with Ca&sar : veni^ vidiy via. Through uncon-
scious causes grew our confidence, — and now it is sworn,
and indissoluble." When, in after years, Goethe visited
Frederika, she — having long given up Lenz, whose mad-
ness must have made her rejoice in her escape — told him
of Lenz having pretended to be in love with her, but omitted
to say anything about her own reciprocity ; and she omitted
this from motives which every woman will appreciate. But
however obscure the story may be, it seems certain that at
least for a short time she believed in and returned Lenz's
passion.*

After this exposition of what I conceive to be the real
case, it will be easy to answer the outcry of the sentimental-
ists against Goethe's "faithlessness" and his "cruel treat-
ment of Frederika," without recurring to the excuses some-
times put forth, that to have been faithful to her he must have
been faithless to his genius; and that it was better one
woman's heart should be broken (which it was not) than that

* For full details see Gruppe, Rcinhold Len*^ Leben und Werke,
1861, pp. II, J^'f.

I77I] ^R' GOETHE'S RETURN. gg

the poet's experience should be narrowed within the small
circle of domestic life. It is a mistake to speak of faithless-
ness at all. We may regret that he did not feel the serious
affection which would have claimed her as a wife ; we may
upbraid him for the thoughtlessness with which he encour-
. aged the sentimental relation ; but he was perfectly right to
draw back from ah engagement which he felt his love was not
strong enough properly to fulfil. It seems to me that he
acted a more moral part in relinquishing her, than if he had
swamped this lesser in a greater wrong, and escaped one
breach of faith by a still greater breach of faith, — a reluctant,
because unloving, marriage. The thoughtlessness of youth,
and the headlong impetus of passion, frequently throw people
into rash engagements ; and in these cases the formal moral-
ity of the world, more careful of externals than of truth,
declares it to be nobler for such rash engagements to be kept,
even when the rashness is felt by the engaged, than that a
man's honor should be stained by a withdrawal. The letter
thus takes precedence of the spirit. To satisfy this prejudice
a life is sacrificed. • A miserable marriage rescues the honor ;
and no one throws the burden of that misery upon the preju-
dice. I am not forgetting the necessity of being stringent
against the common thoughtlessness of youth in forming such
relations; but I say that this thoughtlessness once having
occurred, reprobate it as we may, the pain which a separation
may bring had better be endured, than evaded by an unholy
marriage, which cannot come to good.

Frederika herself must have felt so too, for never did a
word of blame escape her ; and we shall see how affection-
ately she welcomed him, when they met after the lapse of
years. This, however, does not absolve him from the blame
of having thoughtlessly incurred the responsibility of her
affection. That blame he must bear. The reader will appor-

100 THE STORY OF GOETHE* S LIFE, [book in,

tion it according as he estimates the excuses of temperament,
and the common thoughtlessness of youth in such matters.

Although I think Goethe's conduct in this matter perfectly
upright, and justifiable from a far more serious point of view
than that of being faithful to his genius, I am not at all dis-
posed to acquiesce in the assumption that marriage with^
Frederika would have crippled his genius by narrowing his
sympathies. The cause of his relinquishing her was the want
of a sufficiently powerful love ; and that also is his justifica-
tion. Had he loved her enough to share a live with her, his
experience of woman might have been less extensive, but it
would assuredly have gained an element it wanted. It would
have been deepened. He had experienced, and he could
paint (no one better) the exquisite devotion of woman to
man ; but he had scarcely ever felt the peculiar tenderness
of man for woman, when that tenderness takes the form of
vigilant protecting fondness. He knew little, and that not
until late in life, of the subtile interweaving of habit with
affection, which makes life saturated with love, and love
itself become dignified through the serious aims of life. He
knew little of the exquisite companionship of two souls striv-
ing in emulous spirit of loving rivalry to become better, to
become wiser, teaching each other to soar. He knew little
of this ; and the kiss he feared to press upon the loving lips
of Frederika, and the life of sympathy he refused to share
with her, are wanting to the greatness of his works.

In such a mood as that which followed the rupture with
Frederika, it is not wonderful if Frankfurt and the practice
of law were odious to him. Nothing but hard work could do
him good : and he worked hard. From the Herder Corre-
spondence it appears that he read Greek writers with some
eagerness, his letters being studded with citations fron Plato,
Honiet and Pindar. Die Griechcn sind man einzig Stiidium^

1771.] DR GOETHE* S RETURN. iqi

he says. We find him also working at Gotz von Berlichingm.
Gothic Art, a kindred subject, occupies him, and fi-om thence,
by an easy transition, he passes to the Bible, to study it anew.
The results of this study are seen in two little tractates pub-
lished in 1773, 0^6 called Brief des Pastor's zu*^^ an den
neuen Pastor zu*** ; the other, Zjvo wichtige bisher unerortete
biblische Pragen, zum erstenmal griindlich beantivortet von einem
Landgeistlichen in Schwaben, The influence of Fraulein von
Klettenberg is traceable in the religious sentiment of these
works ; while his own affectionate nature speaks in the toler-
ance preached. Of the two Biblical questions, one goes to
prove that it was not the ten commandments which stood on
the tables of Moses, but ten laws of the I sraelitish- Jehovah
covenant. The second is an answer, by no means clear, to
the question : " What is^t to speak with tongues ? " which he
explains as a " speech of the Spirit, more than pantomime,
and yet inarticulate."

The Prankfurter Gelehrten Anzeigen was a point of reunion,
bringing Goethe into relation with many persons of ability.
It also afforded him an opportunity of exercising himself in
criticism. Thirty-five of the articles he wrote for this jour-
nal have been collected into his works, where the curious
student will seek them. In these studies the time flew
swiftly. He had recommenced horse and sword exercise, and
Klopstock having made skating illustrious, it soon became an
amusement of which he was never tired \ all day long and
deep into the night he was to be seen wheeling along ; and
as the full moon rose above the clouds over the wide noc-
turnal fields of ice, and the night wind rushed at his face,
and the echo of his movements came with ghostly sound
upon his ear, he seemed to be in Ossian's world. Indoors
there were studies and music. " Will you ask my violoncello-
master/' he writes to Salzmann, " if he still has the sonatas

102 ^-^^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE, [book hi.

for two basses, which I played with him, and if so, send them
to me as quickly as convenient? I practise this art some-
what more earnestly than before. As to my other occupa-
tions, you will have gathered from my drama (Gotz) that the
purposes of my soul are becoming more earnest"

It has before been hinted that Sturm und Drang, as it
manifested itself in the mind and bearing of the young doctor,
was but very moderately agreeable to the old Rath Goethe ;
and whatever sympathy we may feel with the poet, yet, as we
are all parents, or hope to be, let us not permit our sympathy
to become injustice ; let us admit that the old Rath had con-
siderable cause for parental uneasiness, and let us follow the
son to Wetzlar without flinging any hard words at his father.

CHAPTER IL

WETZLAR.

In the spring of 1772 he arrived at Wetzlar with Goiz in
his portfolio, and in his head many wild, unruly thoughts.
In Wetzlar there were two buildings interesting above all
others to us, — the Imperial Court of Justice, and Das
Teutsche Haus. The Imperial Court was a Court of Appeal for
the whole empire, a sort of German Chancery. In no coun-
try does Chancery move with railway speed, and in Germany
even the railways are slow. Such a chaotic accumulation of
business as this Wetzlar Kammergericht presented, was per-
haps never seen before. Twenty thousand cases lay unde-
cided on Goethe's arrival, and there were but seventeen law-
yers to dispose of ihem. About sixty was the utmost they
could get through in a year, and every year brought more

1772.] WETZLAR. IO3

than double that number to swell the heap. Some cases had
lingered through a century and a half, and still remained far
from a decision. This was not a place to impress the sincere
and eminently practical mind of Goethe with a high idea of
Jurisprudence.

Das Teuische Haus was one of the remnants of the ancient
institution of the Teuische Ritter^ or Teutonic Order of
Knighthood, celebrated in German mediaeval history. The
student is familiar with the black armor and white mantles
of these warrior-priests, who fought with the zeal of mission-
aries and the terrible valor of knights, conquering for them-
selves a large territory, and still greater influence. But it
fared with them as with the knights of other Orders. Their
strength lay in their zeal ; their zeal abated with success.
Years brought them increasing wealth, but the spiritual
wealth and glory of their cause departed. They became
what all corporations inevitably become ; and at the time
now written of they were reduced to a level with the knights
of Malta. The Order still possessed property in various
parts of Germany, and in certain towns there was a sort of
steward's house, where rents were collected and the business
of the Order transacted ; this was uniformly styled das Teui-
sche Haus. There was such a one in Wetzlar ; and the Ami-
mann, or steward, who had superintendence over it, was a
certain Herr Buff, on whom the reader is requested to fix his
eye, not for any attractiveness of Herr Buff, intrinsically con-
sidered, but for the sake of his eldest daughter, Charlotte.
She is the heroine of this Wetzlar episode.

Nor was this house the only echo of the ancient Ritter-
thum in Wetzlar. Goethe, on his arrival, found there another
and more Consciously burlesque parody, in the shape of a
Round Tible and its Knights, bearing such names as St.
Amand the Opinionative, Eustace the Prudent, Lubormirsky

104 ^^^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book hi.

the Combative, and so forth. It was founded by August
Friedrich von Gou^, secretary to the Brunswick Embassy, of
whom we shall hear more : a wild and whimsical fellow, not
without a streak of genius, who drank himself to death. He
bore the title of Ritter Coucy, and christened Goethe " Gotz
von Berlichingen der Redliche^ — Gotz the Honest."

Of this Round Table and its buffooneries, Goethe has
merely told us that he entered heartily into the fun at first,
but soon wearying of it, relapsed into his melancholy fits. A
description of him, written by Kestner at this period, is very
interesting, as it gives us faithfully the impression he pro-
duced on his acquaintances before celebrity had thrown its
halo round his head, and dazzled the perceptions of his ad-
mirers : —

" In the spring there came here a: certain Goethe, by trade *
a Doctor Juris^ twenty-three years old, only son of a very
rich father ; in order — this was his father's intention — that
he might get some experience mpraxi^ but according to his
own intention, that he might study Homer, Pindar, etc., and
whatever else his genius, his manner of thinking, and his
heart might suggest to him.

"At the very first the beaux esprits here announced him to
the public as a colleague, and as a collaborator in the new
Frankfurt Gelehrte Zeitung^ parenthetically also as a philos-
opher, and gave themselves trouble to become intimate with
him. As I do not belong tOvthis class of people, or rather
am not so much in general society, I did not know Goethe
until later, and quite by accident. One of the most dis-
tinguished of our beaux esprits^ the Secretary of Legation
Gotter, persuaded me one day to go with him to the village
of Garbenheim, — a common walk. There I found him on

* Seiner Handthierung nack. The word is old German, and now fallen
out of use, although the verb handthieren is still occasionally used.

1772] WETZLAR, XOS

•

the grass, under a tree, lying on his back, while he talked to
some persons standing around him, — an epicurean philos-
opher (von Gou^, a great genius), a stoic philosopher (von
Kielmansegge), and a hybrid between the two (Dr. Konig) —
and thoroughly enjoyed himself. He was afterwards glad that
I had made his acquaintance under such circumstances.
Many things were talked of, — some of them very interesting.
This time, however, I formed no other judgment concerning
him than that he was no ordinary man. You know that I do
not judge hastily. IJbund at once that he had genius, and a
lively imagination ; but this was not enough to make me esti-
mate him highly.

" Before I proceed further, I must attempt a description of
him, as I have since learned to know him better. He has a
great deal of talent, is a true genius, and a man of character ;
possesses an extraordinarily vivid imagination, and hence gen-
erally expresses himself in images and similes. He often
says, himself, that he always speaks figuratively, and can
never express himself literally ; but that when he is older he
hopes to think and say the thought itself as it really is. He
is ardent in all his affections, and yet has often- great power
over himself His manner of thinking is noble : he is so free
from prejudices that he acts as it seems good to him, without
troubling himself whether it will please others, whether it is
the fashion, whether conventionalism allows it All con-
straint is odious to him.

** He is fond of children, and can occupy himself with
them very much. He is bizarre^ and there are several things
in his manners and outward bearing which might make him
disagreeable. But with children, women, and many others,
he is nevertheless a favorite. He has a great respect for the
female sex. In principiis he is not yet fixed, and is still
striving after a sure system. To say something of this, he
5*

I06 THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE, [book hi.

has a high opinion of Rousseau, but is not a blind wor-
shipper of him. He is not what is called orthodox. Still
this is not out of pride or caprice, or for the sake of
making himself a role. On certain important subjects he
opens himself to few, and does not willingly disturb the con-
tentment of others in their own ideas. It is true he hates
scepticism, strives after truth and after conviction on cer-
tain main points, and even believes that he is already con-
vinced as to the weightiest ; but, as far as I have observed,
he is not yet so. He does not go to <^urch or to the sacra-
ment, and prays seldom. For, says he, I am not hypocrite
enough for that. Sometimes he seems in repose with regard
to certain subjects, sometimes just the contrary. He vener-
ates the Christian religion, but not in the form in which it is
presented by our theologians. He believes in a future life,
in a better state of existence. He strives after truth, yet
values the feeling of truth more than the demonstration. He
has already done much, and has many acquirements, much
reading ; but he has thought and reasoned still more. He
has occupied himself chiefly with the belles leitres and the fine
arts, or rather with all sorts of knowledge, except that which
wins bread."

On the margin of this rough draught, Kestner adds : " I
wished to describe him, but it would be too long a business,
for there is much to be said about him. In' one word, he is a
very remarkable man'*

In conjunction with Gotter the young poet translated
Goldsmith's Deserted Village^ though he speaks slightingly
of his share in it. Through Gotter's representations he
was also persuaded to publish some little poems in Boie's
Annual,

It was a period of deep unrest in Europe, — the travail of
the French Revolution. In Germany the spirit of the Revolu-

1 772-] WETZLAR. IO7

tion issued from the study and the lecture-hall ; it was a
literary and philosophic insurrection, with Lessing, Klop-
stocky Kant, Herder, and Goethe for leaders. Authority
was everywhere attacked, because everywhere it had shown
itself feeble or tyrannous. The majestic peruke of Louis
XIV. was lifted by an audacious hand, which thus revealed
the baldness so long concealed. No one' then believed in
that Grand Monarque ; least of all Goethe, who had Goiz
van Berlichingm in his portfolio, and to whom Homer and
Shakespeare were idols. " Send me no more books," writes
Werther, " I will no longer be led, incited, spurred by them.
There is storm enough in this breast I want a cradle-mel-
ody, and that I have in all its fulness in Homer. How
often do I lull with it my raging blood to rest ! " The Kest-
ner correspondence proves, what before was known, that
Werther is full of biography, and that Goethe was then
troubled with fits of depression following upon days of the
wildest animal spirits. He was fond of solitude ; and the
lonely hours passed in reading, or making sketches of the
landscape in his rough imperfect style.

The image which was to supplant that of Frederika was
none other than of the Charlotte Buff, before mentioned.
Two years before his arrival, her mother had died. The
care of the house and children devolved upon her ; she was
only sixteen, yet good sense, housewifely aptitude, and
patient courage carried her successfully through this task.
She had for two years been betrothed to Kestner, secretary
to the Hanoverian Legation, then aged four-and-twenty : a
quiet, orderly, formal, rational, cultivated man, possessing
great magnanimity, as the correspondence proves, and a
dignity which is in nowise represented in the Albert of Wer-
theTy from whom we must be careful to distinguish him, in spite
of the obvious identity of position. How Goethe came to know

I08 THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE, [book HL

Kestner has already been seen ; how he came to know Lotte
may now be told.* The reader with Werther in hand may
compare the narrative there given with this extract from
Kestner*s letter to a friend, " It happened that Goethe was
at a ball in the country where my maiden and I also were.
I could only come late, and was forced to ride after them.
My maiden, therefore, drove there in other society. In the
carriage was Dr. Goethe, who here first saw Lottchen. He
has great knowledge, and has made Nature in her physical
and moral aspects his principal study, and has sought the
true beauty of both. No woman here had pleased him.
Lottchen at once fixed his attention. She b young, and al-
though not regularly beautiful, has a very attractive face.
Her glance is as bright as a spring morning, and especially it
was so that day, for she loves dancing. She was gay, and in
quite a simple dress. He noticed her feeling for the beauty
of Nature, and her unforced wit, — rather humor than wit
He did not know she was betrothed. I came a few hours
later ; and it is not our custom in public to testify anything
beyond friendship to each other. He was excessively gay
(this he often is, though at other times melancholy) ; Lott-
chen quite fascinated him, the more so because she took no
trouble about it, but gave herself wholly to the pleasure of
the moment. , The next day, of course, Goethe called to
inquire after her. He had seen her aS a lively girl, fond of
dancing and pleasure ; he now saw her under another and a
better aspect, — in her domestic quality."

To judge from her portrait, Lotte must, in her way, have
been a charming creature : not intellectually cultivated, not
poetical, — above all, not the sentimental girl described by
Werther; but a serene, calm, joyous, open-hearted German

* Lotte and Lottchen, it is perhaps not altogether superfluous to add,
are the favorite diminutives of Charlotte.

1772.] WETZLAR. IO9

maiden, an excellent housewife, and a priceless manager.
Goethe at once fell in love with her. An extract from Kest-
ner*s account will tell us more. After describing his engage-
ment to Lotte, he adds : " She is not strictly a brilliant
beauty, according to the common opinion ; to me she is one :
she is, notwithstanding, the fascinating maiden who might
have hosts of admirers, old and young, grave and gay, clever
and stupid, etc. But she knows how to convince them
quickly that their only safety must be sought in flight or in
friendship. One of these, as the most remarkable, I will
mention, because he retains an influence over us. A youth
in years (twenty-three), but in knowledge, and in the devel-
opment of his mental powers and character, already a man,
an extraordinary genius, and a man of character, was here,
— as his family believed, for the sake of studying the law,
but in fact to track the footsteps of Nature and Truth, and to
study Homer and Pindar. He had no need to study for the
sake of a maintenance. Quite by chance, after he had been
here some time, he became acquainted with Lottchen, and
saw in her his ideal : he saw her in her joyous aspect, but
was soon aware that this was not her best side ; he learned
to know her also in her domestic position, and, in a word,
became her adorer. It could not long remain unknown to
him that she could give him nothing but friendship ; and her
conduct towards him was admirable. Our coincidence of
taste, and a closer acquaintance with each other, formed
between him and me the closest bond of friendship. Mean-
while, although he was forced to renounce all hope in relation
to Lottchen, and did renounce it, yet he could not, with all
his philosophy and natural pride, so far master himself as
completely to repress his inclination. And he has qualities
which might make him dangerous to a woman, especially to
one of susceptibility and taste. But Lottchen knew how to

no THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book hi.

treat him so as not to encourage vain hope, and yet make
him admire her manner towards him. His peace of mind
suffered : there were many remarkable scenes, in which
Lottchen's behavior heightened my regard for her ; and he
also became more precious to me as a friend ; but I was
often inwardly astonished that love can make such strange
creatures even of the strongest and otherwise the most self-
sustained men. I pitied him, and had many inward strug-
gles ; for, on the one hand, I thought that I might not be ia
a position to make Lottchen so happy as he would make her ;
but, on the other hand, I could not endure the thought of
losing her. The latter feeling conquered, and in Lottchen I
have never once been able to perceive a shadow of the same
conflict."

Another extract will place this conflict in its true light :
" I am under no further engagement to Lottchen than that
under which an honorable man stands when he gives a young
woman the preference above all others, makes known that he
desires the like feeling from her, and when she gives it, re-
ceives from her not only this, but a complete acquiescence.
This I consider quite enough to bind an honorable man,
especially when such a relation lasts several years. But in
my case there is this in addition, that Lottchen and I have
expressly declared ourselves, and still do so with pleasure,
without any oaths and asseverations." This absence of any
legal tie between them must have made Kestner*s position
far more trying. It gives a higher idea both of his generous
forbearance and of the fascination exercised by Goethe : for
what a position ! and how much nobility on all sides was
necessary to prevent petty jealousies ending in a violent rup-
ture ! Certain it is that the greatest intimacy and the most
affectionate feelings were kept up without disturbance. Con-
fident in the honor of his friend and the truth of his mistress,

1772.1 , WETZLAR, III

Kestner never spoiled the relation by a hint of jealousy.
Goethe was constantly in Lotte*s house, where his arrival was
a jubilee to the children, who seized hold of him, as children
always take loving possession of those who are indulgent to
them, and forced him to tell them stories. It is a pleasant
sight to see Goethe with children ; he always shows such
hearty fondness for them ; and these brothers and sisters of
Lotte were doubly endeared to him because they belonged
to her.

One other figure in this Wetzlar set arrests our attention :
it is that of a handsome blond youth, with soft blue eyes
and a settled melancholy expression. His name is Jerusa-
lem, and he is the son of the venerable Abbot of Rid-
dagshausen.* He is here attached as secretary to the
Brunswick Legation, a colleague, therefore, of von Goud.
He is deeply read in English literature, and has had the
honor of Lessing's friendship; a friendship subsequently
expressed in the following terms, when Lessing, acting as
his editor,^ wrote the preface to his Philosophical Essays:
"When he came to Wolfenbiittel he gave me his friendship.
I did not enjoy it long, but I cannot easily name one who in
so short a space of time excited in me more affection. It is
true I only learned to know one side of his nature, but it
was the side which explains all the rest. It was the desire
for clear knowledge ; the talent to follow truth to its last con-
sequences ; the spirit of cold observation ; but an ardent

• spirit not to be intimidated by truth How sensitive,

how warm, how active this young inquirer was, how true a
man among men, is better known to more intimate friends."

The melancholy of his disposition led him to think much

* No Catholic, as this title might seem to imply, but a Protestant ;
his abbey, secularized two centuries before, yielde'd him only a title and
revenues.

112 THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book in.

of suicide, which he defended on speculative grounds. And
this melancholy, and these meditations, were deepened by an
unhappy passion for the wife of one of his friends. The
issue of that passion we shall have to narrate in a fixture
chapter. For the present it is enough to indicate the pres-
ence of this youth among the circle of Goethe's acquaint-
ances. They saw but little of each other, owing to the
retiring sensitiveness of Jerusalem ; probably the same cause
had kept them asunder years before in Leipsic, where they
were fellow-students ; but their acquaintance furnished Goethe
with material which he was afterwards to use in his novel.

Jerusalem's unhappy passion and Croethe's unhappy pas-
sion, one would think, must have been a bond of union
between them ; but in truth Goethe's passion can scarcely
have been called " unhappy," — it was rather a delicious un-
easiness. Love, in the profound, absorbing sense, it was not.
It was an imaginaiive passion^ in which the poet was more
implicated than the man. Lotte excited his imagination;
her beauty, her serene gayety, her aifectionat^ manners,
charmed him ; the romance of his position heightened the
charm, by giving an unconscious security to his feelings. I am
persuaded that if Lotte had been free, he would have fled
from her as he fled from Frederika. In saying this, however,
I do not mean that the impossibility of obtaining her gave
him any comfort. He was restless, impatient, and, in a cer-
tain sense, unhappy. He believed himself to be desperately
in love with her, when in truth he was only in love with the
indulgence of the emotions she excited ; a paradox which
will be no mystery to those acquainted with the poetic tem-
perament

The following extracts from Kestner's Diary will remind
the reader of Goethe's departure from Leipsic without sajring
adieu to Kathchen. His dislike of "scenes" made him

1772] WETZLAR, II3

shrink from those emotions of leave-taking usually so eagerly
sought by lovers : —

^^ Sept loth^ 1772- To-day Dr. Goethe dined with me in
the garden ; I did not know that it was the last time. In
the evening Dr. Goethe came to the Taitsche Haus. He,
Lottchen, and I had a remarkable conversation about the
future state; about going away and returning, etc., which
was not begun by him, but by Lottchen. We agreed that
the one who died first should, if he could, give information
to the living, about the conditions of the other life. Goethe
was quite cast down, for he knew that the next morning he
was to go."

" Sept iithy 1772. This morning at seven o'clock Goethe
set off without taking leave. He sent me a note with some
books. He had long said that about this time he would
make a journey to Coblentz, where the paymaster of the
forces, Merck, awaited him, and that he would say no good
byes, but set off suddenly. So I had expected it But that I
was, notwithstanding, unprepared for it, I have felt, — felt
deep in my soul. In the morning I came home. * Herr Dr.
Goethe sent this at ten o'clock.' I sa^ the books and the
note, and thought what this said to me, — * He is gone 1 ' —
and was quite dejected. Soon after, Hans * came to ask me
if he were really gone. The Geheime Rdihin Langen had
sent to say by a maid-servant : * It was very ill-mannered of
Dr. Goethe to set off in this way, without taking leave.'
Lottchen sent word in reply : ' Why had she not taught her
nephew better?' Lottchen, in order to be certain, sent a
box which she had of Goethe's, to his house. He was no
longer there. In the middle of the day the Geheime Rdthin
Langen sent word again : * She would, however, let Dr
Goethe's mother know how he had conducted himself

* One of Lotte's brothers.

114 ^^^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book iii.

Every one of the children in the Teutsche Haus was saying :
* Doctor Goethe is gone!* In the middle of the day I talked
with Herr von Born, who had accompanied him, on horse-
back, as far as Brunnfells. Goethe had told him of our
evening's conversation. Goethe had set out in very low
spirits. In the afternoon I took Goethe's note to Lottchen.
She was sorry about his departure ; the tears came into her
eyes while reading. Yet it was a satisfaction to her that he
was gone, since she could not give him the affection he
desired. We spoke only of him ; indeed, I could think of
nothing else, and defended the manner of his leaving, which
was blamed by a silly person ; I did it with much warmth.
Afterwards I wrote him word what had happened since his
departure."

How graphically do these simple touches set the whole
situation before us : the sorrow of the two lovers at the
departure of their friend, and the consternation of the chil-
dren on hearing that Dr. Goethe is gone ! One needs such
a picture to reassure us that the episode, with all its strange
romance, and with all its danger, was not really a fit of mor-
bid sentimentalism. • Indeed, had Goethe been the senti-
mental Werther he has represented, he would never have had
the strength of will to tear himself from such a position. He
would have blown his brains out, as Werther did. On the
other hand, note what a worthy figure is this of Kestner,
compared with the cold Albert of the novel. A less gener-
ous nature would have rejoiced in the absence of a rival, and
forgotten, in its joy, the loss of a friend. But Kestner, who
knew that his friend was his rival, — and such a rival, that
doubts crossed him whether this magnificent youth were not
really more capable of rendering Lotte happy than he him-
self was, — grieved for the absence of his friend!

Here is Goethe's letter, referred to in the passage just
quoted from the Diary: —

1772] PREPARATIONS FOR WERTHER. 115

" He is gone, Kestner ; when you get this note, he is gone !
Give Lottchen the enclosed. I was quite composed, but
your conversation has torn me to pieces. At this moment I
can say nothing to you but farewell. If I had remained a
moment longer with you I could not have restrained myself
Now I am alone, and to-morrow I go. O my poor head 1 "
This was the enclosure, addressed to Lotte : —
" I certainly hope to come again, but God knows when !
Lotte, what did my heart feel while you were talking, know-
ing, as I did, that it was the last time I should see you ?
Not the last time, and yet to-morrow I go away. He is
gone ! What spirit led you to that conversation ? When I
was expected to say all I felt, alas ! what I cared about was
here below, was your hand, which I kissed for the last time.
The room, which I shall not enter again, and the dear father
who saw me to the door for the last time. I am now alone,
and may weep ; I leave you happy, and shall remain in your
heart And shall see you again ; but not to-morrmv is never I
Tell my boys, He is gone. I can say no more.'*

CHAPTER III.

PREPARATIONS FOR WERTHER.

Having sent his luggage to the house of Frau von Laroche,
where he was to meet Merck, he made the journey down the
Lahn, on foot. A delicious sadness subdued his thoughts as
he wandered dreamily along the river banks ; and the lovely
scenes which met his eye solicited his pencil, awakening once
more the ineffectual desire (which from time to time haunted
him) of becoming a painter. He had really no faculty in

1 16 THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE, [book hi.

this direction, yet the desire, often suppressed, now rose up
in such a serious shape, that he resolved to settle forever
whether he should devote himself to the art or not The
test was curious. The river glided beneath, now flashing in
the sunlight, now partially concealed by willows. Taking a
knife from his pocket he flung it with his left hand into the
river, having previously resolved that if he saw it fall he was
to become an artist ; but if the sinking knife were concealed
by the willows he was to abandon the idea. No ancient
oracle was ever more ambiguous than the answer now given
him. The willows concealed the sinking knife, but the
water splashed up like a fountain, and was distinctly visible.
So indefinite an answer left him in doubt.*

He wandered pleasantly on the banks till he reached Ems,
and then journeyed down the river in a boat The old Rhine
opened upon him ; and he mentions with peculiar delight the
magnificent situation of Oberlahnstein, and, above all, the
majesty of the castle of Ehrenbreitstein. On arriving at the
house of Laroche, where he had been announced by Merck,
he was most kindly received by this excellent family. His
literary tendencies bound him to the mother ; his joyousness
and strong sense, to the father ; his youth and poetry, to the
daughters. The Frau von Laroche, Wieland's earliest love,
had written a novel in the Richardson style. Die Geschichte
des Frduleins von Stemheim; and Schafer remarks that she

* This mode of interrogating fate recalls that strange passage in
Rousseau's Confessions (Livre VI.), where he throws a stone at a tree :
if he hits, it is a sign of salvation ; if he misses, of damnation ! For-
tunately he hits : " Ce qui, veritablement, n'^tait pas difficile, car j'avais
eu le soin de le choisir fort gros et fort pr^s ; depuis lors je n*ai plus
doute de mon salut.'' Had Goethe read this passage ? The Confessions
appeared in 1768, that is, four years before this journey down the Lahn.
Yet from a passage in one of his letters to the Frau von Stein, it seems
as if he then, 1782, first read the Confessions.

1773] PREPARATIONS FOR WERTHER, 117

probably gathered Merck, Goethe, and others into her house
with a view to favorable criticisms of this novel. If this
were her design, she succeeded with Goethe, who reviewed
her book in the Frankfurter Gelehrtm Anzeigen. Whether this
compliance was extorted by herself, or by the charms of her
daughter Maximiliane, history saith not ; certain it is that the
dark eyes of the daughter made an impression on the heart of
the young reviewer. She is the Mdlle. B. introduced in Wer-
ther; but she is even still more interesting to us as the future
mother of Bettina. They seem to have looked inta each
other's eyes, flirted and sentimentalized, as if no Lotte had
been left in Wetzlar. Nor will this surprise those who have
considered the mobile nature of our poet. He is miserable
at moments, but the fulness of abounding life, the strength of
victorious will, and the sensibility to new impressions, keep
his ever-active nature from the despondency - which killed
Werther. He is not always drooping because Charlotte is
another's. He is open to ^very new impression, serious or
gay. Thus, among other indications, we find him throwing
ofl" in Pater Brey and Satyros^ sarcasm and humor which are
curious as products of the Werther period, although of no ab-
solute worth ; and we follow him up the Rhine, in company
with Merck and his family, leisurely enjo)dng Rheinfels, St.
Goar, Bacharach, Bingen, Elfeld, and Biberich, sketching as
if life were a leisure summer day.

He returned to Frankfurt, and busied himself with law, lit-
erature, and painting. Wandering Italians, then rare, brought
casts of antique statues to Frankfurt ; and with delighted
eagerness he purchased a complete set, thus to revive as much
as possible the grand impression he received at Mannheim.
Among his art-studies must be noted the attention bestowed
on the Dutch painters- He began to copy some still-life pic-
tures j one of these he mentions with pride, and what, think

Il8 THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE, [book hi.

you, this one was ? — a copy of a tortoise-shell knife-handle in-
laid with silver ! He has Gbtz von Berlichingen in his port-
folio, and delights in copying a knife-handle 1

To law he devoted himself with greater assiduity than ever.
His father, delighted at going through the papers with him,
was peculiarly gratified at this honorable diligence, and in
his delight was willing to overlook the other occupations of
" this singular creature," as he rightly named him. Goethe's
literary plans were numerous, and the Frankfurt Journal gave
him constant opportunities for expressing himself on poetry,
theology, and even politics.

When Gotz appeared the effect on the public was instanta-
neous, startling. Its bold expression of the spirit of Freedom,
its defiance of French criticism, and the originality, no less
than the power of the writing, carried it triumphant over Ger-
many. It was pronounced a masterpiece in all the salons and
in all the beer-houses of that uneasy time. Imitations fol-
lowed with amazing rapidity; the stage was noisy with the
clang of chivalry, and the bookshelves creaked beneath the
weight of resuscitated Feudal Times.

An amusing example of "the trade" is mentioned by
Goethe. A bookseller paid him a visit, and with the air of a
man well satisfied with his proposal, offered to give an order
for a dozen plays in the style of Gotz^ for which a handsome
honorarium should be paid. His offer was the more gener-
ous, because such was the state of literature at this period,
that, in spite of the success Gotz achieved, it brought no
money to its author, — pirated editions circulating everywhere,
and robbing him of his reward. Moreover, what the book-
seller proposed was what the public expected. When once a
writer has achieved success in any direction, he must continue
in that direction, or peril his reputation. An opinion has
been formed of him, — he has been classed; and the public

1773] PREPARATIONS FOR WERTHER, n^

will not have its classification disturbed. Nevertheless, if he
repeat himself, this unreasoning public declaims against his
" poverty." No man ever repeated himself less than Goethe.
He did not model a statue, and then amuse himself with
taking casts of it in different materials. He lived, thought,
and suffered ; and because he had lived, thought, and suf
fared, he wrote. When he had once expressed his expert
ence in a work, he never recurred to it. The true artist, like
the snake, casts his skin, but never resumes it. He works ac-
cording to the impulse from within, not according to the de-
mand from without. And Goethe was a genuine artist, never
exhausting a lucky discovery, never working an impoverished
vein. Every poem came fresh from life, coined from the
mint of his experience.

Gbtz is the greatest product of the Sturm und Drang
movement As we before hinted, this period is not simply
one of vague wild hopes and retrospections of old German
life, it is also one of unhealthy sentimentalism. Goethe, the
great representative poet of his day — the secretary of his
age — gives us masterpieces which characterize both these
tendencies. Be§ide the insurgent Gotz stands the dreamy
Werther. And yet, accurately as these two works represent
two active tendencies of that time, they are both far removed
above the perishing extravagances of that time ; they are both
ideal expressions of the age, and as free from the disease
which corrupted it as Goethe himself was free from the
weakness of his contemporaries. Wilkes used to say that he
had never been a Wilkite. Goethe was never a Werther.
To appreciate the distance which separated him and his
works from his sentimental contemporaries and their works,
we must study the characters of such men as Jacobi, Klinger,
Wagner, and Lenz, or we must read such works as Woldemar,
It will then be plain why Goethe turned with aversion from

I20 ^-^^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book in.

such works, his own included, when a few years had cleared
his insight, and settled his aims. Then also will be seen the
difference between genius which idealizes the spirit of the
age, and talent which panders to it.*

It was, indeed, a strange epoch ; tlie unrest was the unrest
of disease, and its extravagances were morbid symptoms.
In the letters, memoirs, and novels, which still remain to
testify to the follies of the age, may be read a self-question-
ing and sentimental introspection, enough to create in healthy
minds a distaste both for sentiment and self-questioning. A
factitious air is carried even by the most respectable senti-
ments ; and many not respectable array themselves in rose-
pink. Nature is seldom spoken of but in hysterical enthu-
siasm. Tears and caresses are prodigally scattered, and
upon the slightest provocations. In Coburg an Order of
Mercy and Expiation is instituted by sensitive noodles.
Leuchsenring, whom Goethe satirized in Pater Brey as a
professional sentimentalist, gets up a secret society, and calls
it the Order of Sentiment^ to which tender souls think it a
privilege to belong. Friendship is fantastically deified;
brotherly love draws trembling souls together, not on the
solid grounds of affection and mutual service, but on entirely
imaginary grounds of " spiritual communion " ; whence arose,
as Jean Paul wittily says, " an universal love for all men and
beasts, — except reviewers." It was a sceptical epoch, in
which everything established came into question. Marriage,
of course, came badly off among a set of men who made the
first commandment of genius to consist in loving your neigh-
bor and your neighbor's wife.

These were symptoms of disease ; the social organization

* As Karl Griin epigrammatically says of Goethe and his contempo-
raries, " he was at once patient and physician, they were patients and
nothing else."

1773] PREPARATION'S FOR WERTHER. 121

was out of order ; a crisis, evidently imminent, was heralded
by extravagances in literature, as elsewhere. The cause of
the disease was want of faith. In religion, in philosophy, in
X)olitics, in morals, this eighteenth century was ostentatious
of its disquiet and. disbelief. The old faith, which for so
long had made European life an organic unity, and which in
its tottering weakness had received a mortal blow from Luther,
was no longer universal, living, active, dominant ; jts place
of universal directing power was vacant, — a new faith had
not arisen. The French Revolution was another crisis of
that organic disturbance which had previously shown itself in
another order of ideas, — in the Reformation. Beside this
awful crisis, other minor crises are noticeable. Everywhere
the same Protestant spirit breaks through traditions in morals,
in literature, and in education. Whatever is established,
whatever rests on tradition, is questioned. The classics are
no longer believed in ; men begin to maintain the doctrine
of progress, and proclaim the superiority of the modems.
Art is pronounced to be in its nature progressive. Educa-
tion is no longer permitted to pursue its broad traditional
path ; the methods which were excellent for the past, no
longer suffice for the present ; everywhere new methods rise
up to ameliorate the old. The divine right of institutions
ceases to gain credence. The individual claimed and pro-
claimed his freedom, — freedom of thought and freedom of
act Freedom is the watchword of the eighteenth century.

Enough has been said to indicate the temper of those
times, and to show why Wert her was the expression of that
temper. Turning to the novel itself, we find it so bound up
with the life of its author, that the history of his life at this
epoch is the record of the materials from which it was
created ; we must, therefore, retrace our steps again to the
point where Goethe left Wetzlar, and, by the aid of his let-
6

122 '^^E, STORY OF GOETHE* S LIFE. [book hi.

ters to Kestner, follow the development of this strange
romance.

Gotz was published in the summer of 1773. ^^ was in the
autumn of 1772 that Goethe left Wetzlar, and returned home.
His letters to Kestner and Charlotte are full of passionate
avowals and tender reminiscences. The capricious orthogra-
phy and grammar to be noticed in them belong to a period
when it was thought unworthy of a genius to conform to de-
tails so fastidious as correct spelling and good grammar ; but
the affectionate nature which warms these letters, the abun-
dant love the writer felt and inspired, these belong to him,
and not to his age. If a proof were wanted of Goethe's loving
disposition, we might refer to these letters, especially those
addressed to the young brother of Charlotte. The reader of
this Biography, however, will need no such proof, and we may
therefore confine ourselves to the relation of Goethe to the
Kestners. ** God bless you, dear Kestner," runs one of the
early letters, " and tell Lotte that I often believe I can forget
her ; but then I have a relapse, and it is worse with me than
ever." He longs once more to be sitting at her feet, letting
the children clamber over him. He writes in a strain of mel-
ancholy, which is as much poetry as sorrow : when a thought
of suicide arises, it is only one among the many thoughts
which hurry through his mind. There is a very significant
passage in the Autobiography, which aptly describes his real
state of mind ; " I had a large collection of weapons, and
among them a very handsome dagger. This I placed by my
bedside every night, and before extinguishing my candle I
made various attempts to pierce the sharp point a couple of
inches into my breast; but, not being able to do it, I
laughed myself out of the notion, threw aside all hypochon-
driacal fancies, and resolved to live." He played with sui-
cidal thoughts, because he was restless, and suicide was a fash-

17731 PREPARATIONS FOR WERTHER. 123

ionable speculation of the day ; but whoever supposes these
thoughts of suicide were serious, has greatly misunderstood
him. He had them not, even at this period ; and when he
wrote Werther he had long thrown off even the faint tempta-
tion of poetic longings for death. In October, 1772, the re-
port reaches him that his Wetzlar friend, Gou^, has shot him-
self : " Write to me at once about Goud," he says to Kestner ;
" I honor such an act, and pity mankind, and let all the Phil-
isters make their tobacco-smoke comments on it and say :
There, you see ! Nevertheless, I hope never to make my
friends unhappy by such an act myself." He was too full of
life to do more than coquette with the idea of death. Here
is a confession : " I went to Homburg, and there gained new
love of life, seeing how much pleasure the appearance of a
miserable thing like me can give such excellent people." On
the 7th of November he suddenly appeared in Wetzlar with
Schlosser, and stayed there till the loth, in a feverish, but de-
licious, enthusiasm. He writes to Kestner on reaching
home : " It was assuredly high time for me to go. Yesterday
evening I had thoroughly criminal thoughts as I lay on the

sofa And when I think how above all my hopes your

greeting of me was, I am very calm. I confess I came with
some anxiety. I came with a pure, warm, full heart, dear
Kestner, and it is a hell-pain when one is not received in
the same spirit as one brings. But so — God give you a
whole life such as those two days were to me ! "

The report of Gout's suicide, before alluded to, turned out
to be false ; but the suicide of Jerusalem was a melancholy
fact Goethe immediately writes to Kestner : —

" Unhappy Jerusalem ! The news was shocking, and unex-
pected ; it was horrible to have this news as an accompani-
ment to the pleasantest gift of love. The unfortunate man !
But the devil, that is, the infamous men who enjoy nothmg

124 ^^^ STORY OF GOBTHE^S UFS. [book rii.

but the chaff of vanity, and have the lust of idolatry in their
hearts, and preach idolatry, and cramp healthy nature, and
overstrain and ruin the faculties, are guilty of this misery, of
our misery. If the cursed parson is not guilty, God forgive
me that I wish he may break his neck like EIL I'he poor
young man ! When I came back from a walk, and he met
me in the moonlight, I said to myself, he is in love. Lotte
must still remember that I laughed about it God knows,
loneliness undermined his heart, and for seven years* his
form has been familiar to me. I have talked little with him.
When I came away I brought with me a book of his ; I will
keep that and the remembrance of him as long as I live."

Among the many inaccuracies of the Autobiography^ there
is one of consequence on the subject of WertJier^ namely, the
assertion that it was the news of Jerusalem's suicide which
suddenly set him to work. The news reached him in Octo-
ber, 1772, and in November, Kestner sent him the narrative
of Jerusalem's last days. Not until the middle and end of
1773 did he write Werther, In fact, the state of his mind at
this period is by no means such as the Autobiography de-
scribes. Read this letter, written in December: "That is
wonderful I I was about to ask if Lenchen t had arrived,
and you write to tell me she is. If I were only there I would
nullify your discourse, and astonish all the tailors ; I think I
should be fonder of her than of Lotte. From the portrait she
must be an amiable girl, much better than Lotte, if not pre-
cisely the ... . And I am free and thirsting for love, I must
try and come ; yet that would not help me. Here am I once
more in Frankfurt, and carry plans and fancies about with
me, which I should not do if I had but a maiden." In Jan-
uary he seems to have found a maiden, for he writes : " Tell

• This "seven years " refers to the first sight of Jerusalem at Leipsic
t A sbter of Charlotte's.

I773-] PREPARATIONS FOR WERTHER, 125

Lotte there is a certain maiden here whom I love heartily,
and whom I would choose before all others if I had any
thought of marriage, and she also was born on the nth Jan-
uary.* It would be pretty : such a pair I Who knows what
God's will is ? ** I agree with ViehofF against Diintzer, that
this alludes to Anna Antoinette Gerock, a relation of Schlos-
ser's, who is known to have loved him passionately, and to
have furnished some traits for Mignon. Clear it is that he is
not very melancholy. " Yesterday I skated from sunrise to
sunset. And I have other sources of joy which I can't relate.
Be comforted that I am almost as happy as people who love,
like you two, that I am as full of hope, and that I have lately
felt some poems. My sister greets you, my maiden also greets
you, my gods greet you." Thus we see, that, although Lotte's
picture hangs by his bedside, although her image hovers con-
stantly before him, and the Teutsche Haus is the centre of
many yearning thoughts, he is not pining despondently for
Charlotte. He has rewritten Gotz^ and allowed Merck to
carry it to the printer's. He is living in a very merry circle,
one figure in which is Antoinette Gerock, as we gather from
a letter written in February, 1773, a month after that in which
he refers to his " maiden." Here is the passage : " At Easter
I will send you a quite adventurous novelty. My maiden
greets Lotte. In character she has much of Lenchen, and
my sister says resembles her portrait. If we were but as
much in love as you two — meanwhile I will call her my * dear
little wife,' for recently she fell to me in a lottery as my wife."
And now the day approaches when Lotte is to be married
and leave Wetzlar. He writes to her brother Hans, begging
him, when Lotte departs, to write at least once a week, that
the connection with the Teutsche Haus may not be broken, al-
though its jewel is carried away. He writes to Kestner to be

* Lotte*s birthday. t GShi,

126 THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE, [book hi.

allowed to get the wedding ring. " I am wholly yours, but
from henceforth care not to see you nor Lotte. Her portrait
too shall away from my bedrqom the day of her marriage, and
shall not be restored till I hear she is a mother ; and from
that moment a new epoch begins, in which I shall not love
her but her children, a little indeed on her account, but that 's
nothing to do with it ; and if you ask me to be godfather, my
spirit shall rest upon the boy, and he shall make a fool of
himself for a maiden like his mother.^' Enclosed was this
note to Lotte : " May my memory with this ring forever re-
main with you in your happiness. Dear Lotte, some time
hence we shall see each other again, you with this ring on
your finger, and I as always thine. I know no name or by-
name to sign this with. You know me." When the mar-
riage takes place he writes to Kestner : " God bless you ; you
have surprised me. I had meant to make a holy sepulchre
on Good Friday, and bury Lotte's portrait. But it hangs still
by my bed, and shall remain there till I die. Be happy.
Greet for me your angel, and Lenchen ; she shall be the sec-
ond Lotte, and it shall be as well with her. I wander in the
desert where no water is, my hair is my shade, and my blood
my spring." The bridesmaid brings him the bridal bouquet,
a flower of which he sticks in his hat, as he walks to Darm-
stadt, in a melancholy mood ; but to show that his passion
for Charlotte was after all only a poetic passion, here is a pas-
sage in the letter he sent to Kestner immediately after the
marriage : " O Kestner, when have I envied you Lotte in the
human sense ? for not to envy you her in the spiritual sense
I must be an angel without lungs and liver. Nevertheless I
must disclose a secret to you. That you may know and be-
hold. AVhen I attached myself to Lotte, and you know that
I was attached to her from my heart. Born talked to me about
it, as people are wont to talk. * If I were K., I should not

1773] PREPARATIONS FOR WERTHER, 127

like it How can it end ? You quite cut him out I ' and the
like. Then I said to him in these very words, in his room, it
was in the morning : * The fact is, I am fool enough to think
the girl something remarkable ; if she deceived me, and turned
out to be as girls usually are, and used K. as capital in order
to make the most of her charms, the first moment which dis-
covered that to me, the first moment which brought her near-
er to me, would be the last of our acquaintance/ and this I
protested and swore. And between ourselves, without boast-
ing, I understand the maiden somewhat, and you know how
I have felt for her and for everything she has seen and
touched, and wherever she has been, and shall continue to
feel to the end of the world. And now see how far I am en-
vious, and must be so. For either I am a fool, which it is
difficult to believe, or she is the subtlest deceiver, or then,
Lotte, the very Lotte of whom we are speaking." A few days
afterwards he writes : '* My poor existence is petrified to bar-
ren rock. This summer I lose all. Merck goes. My sister
too. And I am alone."

The marriage of Cotnelia, his much-loved sister, was to
him a very serious matter, and her loss was not easily sup-
plied. It came, too, at a time when other losses pained him.
Lotte was married, Merck was away, and a dear friend had
just died. Nevertheless, he seems to have been active in
plans. Among them was most probably that of a drama on
Mahomet, which he erroneously places at a later period, after
the journeys with Lavater and Basedow, but which Schafer,
very properly, restores to the year 1773, as Boie's Annual
for 1774 contains the Mahomet^ $ Sang. Goethe has narrated
in full the conception of this piece, which is very grand. He
tells us the idea arose within him of illustrating the sad fact,
noticeable in the biographies of genius, that every man who
attempts to realize a great idea comes in contact with the low-

nr.

IV.

VL

Kc

•lir

. I

-«

128 ^^^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book hi.

•
er world, and must place himself on its level in order to influ-
ence it, and thus compromises his higher aims, and finally for-
feits them. He chose Mahomet as the illustration, never
having regarded him as an impostor. He had carefully
studied the Koran and Mahomet's life, in preparation. *' The
piece," he says, '' opened with a hymn sung by Mahomet
alone under the open sky. He first adores the innumerable
stars as so many gods j but as the star-god (Jupiter) rises, he
offers to him, as the king of the stars, exclusive adoration.
Soon after, the moon ascends the horizon, and claims the eye
and heart of the worshipper, who, refi-eshed and strengthened
by the dawning sun, is afterwards stimulated to new praises.
But these changes, however delightful, are still unsatisfactory^
and the mind feels that it must rise still higher, and mounts
therefore to God, the One Eternal, Infinite, to whom all these
splendid but finite creatures owe their existence. I com-
posed this hymn with great delight ; it is now lost, but might
easily be restored as a cantata, and is adapted for music by
the variety of its expression. It would, however, be neces-
sary to imagine it sung according to the original plan, by
the leader of a caravan with his family and tribe ; and thus
the alternation of the voices and the strength of the chorus
would be secured.

"Mahomet converted, imparts these feelings and senti-
ments to his friends : his wife and Ali become unconditional
disciples. In the second act, he attempts to propagate this
faith in the tribe ; Ali still more zealously. Assent and op-
position display themselves according to the variety of char-
acter. The contest begins, the strife becomes violent, and
Mahomet flies. In the third act, he defeats his enemies,
makes his religion the public one, and purifies the Kaaba
from idols; but this being impracticable by force, he is
obliged to resort to cunning. What in his character isearthfy

1774] PREPARATIONS FOR WERTHER. i2g

increases and develops itself; the divine retires and is obscured.
In the fourth act, Mahomet pursues his conquests, his doctrine
becomes a means rather than an end^ all kinds of practices
are employed, nor are horrors wanting. A woman, whose
husband has been condemed by Mahomet, poisons him. In
the fifth act, he feels that he is poisoned. His great calm-
ness, the return to himself and to his better nature, make him
worthy of admiration. He purifies his doctrine, establishes
his kingdom, and dies.

" This sketch long occupied my mind ; for, according to my
custom, I was obliged to let the conception perfect itself be-
fore I commenced the execution. All that genius, through
character and intellect, can exercise over mankind, was there-
in to be represented, and what it gains and loses in the pro-
cess. Several of the songs to be introduced in the drama
were rapidly composed ; the only one remaining of them, how-
ever, is the Mahomet's Gesang. This was to be sung by Ali,
in honor of his master, at the apex of his success, just before
the change resulting from the poison." Of all his unrealized
schemes, this causes me the greatest regret In grandeur,
depth, and in the opportunities for subtle psychological un-
ravelment of the mysteries of our nature, it was a scheme pe-
culiarly suited to his genius. How many Clavigps and Stellas
would one not have given for such a poem ?

The satirical farce, Gbtter^ Helden und Wielandy is alluded
to in this passage of a letter to Kestner, May, 1774, and must
therefore have been written some time before : " My rough
joke against Wieland makes more noise than I thought. He
behaves very well in the matter, as I hear, so that I am in
the wrong." The origin of this farce was a strong feeling in
the circle of Goethe's friends, that Wieland had modernized,
misrepresented, and traduced the Grecian gods and heroes.
One Sunday afternoon "the rage for dramatizing everything"
6» I

/

I30 '^^^ STORY OF GOETHE*S LIFE, [book hi.

seized him, and with a bottle of Burgundy by his side he
wrote off the piece just as it stands. The friends were in
raptures with it He sent it to Lenz, then at Strasburg, who
insisted on its at once being printed. After some demurring,
consent was given, and at Strasburg the work saw the light
In reading it, the public, unacquainted with the circumstances
and the mood to which it owed its origin, unacquainted also
with the fact of its never having been designed for publica-
tion, felt somewhat scandalized at its fierceness of sarcasm.
But in truth there was no malice in it Flushed with the in-
solence and pride of wit, he attacked a poet whom, on the
whole, he greatly loved. Wieland took no offence at it, but
reviewed it in the Teutsche Mercury recommending it to all
lovers of pasquinade, persiflage^ and sarcastic wit This re-
minds one of Socrates standing* up in the theatre, when he
was lampooned by Aristophanes, that the spectators might
behold the original of the sophist they were hooting on the
stage. Gottery Helden und Wieland is really amusing, and
under the mask of its buffoonery contains some sound and
acute criticism * The peculiarity of it, however, consists in
its attacking Wieland for treating heroes unheroically, at a
time when, from various parts of Germany, loud voices were
raised against Wieland as an immoral, an unchristian, nay,
even an atheistical writer. Lavater called upon Christians to
pray for this sinner ; theologians forbade their followers to
read his works ; pulpits were loud against him. In 1773 the
whole Klopstock school rose against him t in moral indigna-
tion, and burned his works on Klopstock's birthday. Very
different was Goethe's ire. He saw that the gods and heroes
were represented in peruques and satin breeches, that their

* It called forth a retort, Thiere, Menschen und Goethe ; which has
not fallen in my way. Critics speak of it as personal, but worthless,
t Gervinusy IV. p. 285.

I774-] PREPARATIONS FOR WERTHER, 131

cheeks were rouged, their thews and sinews shrunk to those of
a petit-maitre ; and against such a conception of the old Pa-
gan life he raised his voice.

On the nth February, Knebel paid him a visit, and in-
formed him that the two princes, Karl August and Constan-
tine, were desirous of seeing him. He went, and was received
with flattering kindness, especially by Karl August, who had
just read G'diz. He dined with his royal hosts in a quiet
way, and left them, having received and produced an agree-
able impression. They were going to Mainz, whither he
promised to follow them. His father, like a sturdy old
burgher who held aloof from princes, shook his sceptical
head at the idea of this visit To Mainz, however, the poet
went a day or two afterwards, and spent several days with
the young princes, as their guest. This was his first contact
with men of high rank.

In the following May he hears with joy that Lotte is a
mother, and that her boy is to be called Wolfgang, after him ;
and on the i6th of June he writes to Lotte; "I will soon
send you a friend who has much resemblance to me, and
hope you will receive him well ; he is named Werther, and is
and was — but that he must himself explain."

Whoever has followed the history thus far, moving on the
secure ground of contemporary documents, will see how
vague and inaccurate is the account of the composition of
Werther given t)y its author, in his retrospective narrative.
It was not originated by growing despair at the loss of Char-
lotte. It was not originated by tormenting thoughts of self-
destruction. It was not to free himself from suicide that he
wrote this story of suicide. All these several threads were
indeed woven into its woof ; but the rigor of dates forces us
to the conviction that Werther^ although taken from his ex-
perience^ was not written while that experience was being

132 THE STORY OF GOETHE'S UFE [book ni.

undergone. Indeed, the true philosophy of art would, a
priori^ lead us to the conviction that, although he cleared his
" bosom of the perilous stuff" by moulding this perilous
stufif into a work of art, he must have essentially outlived the
storm before he painted it, — conquered his passion, and
subdued the rebellious thoughts, before he made them plastic
to his purpose. The poet cannot see to write when his eyes
are full of tears ; cannot sing when his breast is swollen with
sighs, and sobs choke utterance. He must rise superior to
bis grief before he can sublimate his grief in song. The
artist is a master, not a slave ; he widds his passion, he is
not hurried along by it ; he possesses, and is not possessed.
Art enshrines the great sadness of the world, but is itself not
sad. The storm of passion weeps itself away, and the heavy
clouds roll off in quiet masses, to make room for the sun,
which, in shining through, touches them to beauty with its
rays. While pain is in its newness, it is pain, and nothing
else ; it is not Art, but Feeling. Goethe could not write
Werther before he had outlived Wertherism. It may have
been, as he says, a *' general confession," and a confession
which brought him certain relief; but we do not confess until
we have repented, and we do not repent until we have out-
lived the error.

Werther was written rapidly. " I completely bolated my-
self," he says 3 ** nay, prohibited the visits of my friends, and
put aside everything that did not immediately belong to the
subject Under such circumstances, and under so many
preparations in secret, I wrote it in four weeks, without any
scheme of the whole, or treatment of any part being pre-
viously put on paper." It is of this seclusion Merck writes :
" Le grand succ^s que son drame a eu lui toume un peu la
tdte. U se dtftache de tous ses amis, et n'existe que dans les
com^positions qu'il prepare pour le public."

1774-J PREPARATIONS FOR WERTHER. 133

It is a matter of some interest to ascertain the exact truth
respecting the date of the composition of Wet-thir. As before
stated, his own account is manifestly inaccurate; and the
only thing which renders it difficult to assign the dates with
tolerable precision^ is his statement that it was written in four
weeks, without any scheme of the whole or treatment of any
part having been previously put on paper. If we consent to
believe that his memory in this case deceived him, the corre-
spondence of the period furnishes hints from which we may
conclude that in 1772, on the arrival of the news about Jeru-
salem's suicide, he made a general sketch, either in his mind
or on paper ; and that during the following year he worked
at it from time to time. In June, 1773, he writes to Kestner :
^ And thus I dream and ramble through life, writing plays
and novdsy and the like/' In July he writes : '' I am working
my own situation into art for the consolation of gods and
men, I know what Lotte will say when she sees it, and I
know what I shall answer her." The word in the original is
Sihauspidy — play, drama ; Viehoff suggests that he does not
mean drama, but a work which \(ill bring his situation zur
&hauy — before the public eye. In September of the same
year he writes: "You are always by me when I write. At
present I am working at a novel, but it gets on slowly." In
November, Frau Jacobi writes to him, acknowledging the re-
ceipt of a novel, in manuscript, no doubt, which delights her.
In February, 1774, Merck writes of him : « Je prrfvois qu'un
roman, qui paraitra de lui \ piques, sera aussi bien re^u que
son drame." As we have nowhere a hint of any other novel
besides Wcrther at this epoch, it is difficult to resist the evi-
dence of these dates ; and we must, therefore, conclude that
the assertion in the Autobiography is wholly inexact.

In September, 1774, he wrote to Lotte, sending her a copy
of Werlhfr: « Lotte, how dear thi» little book is to me thou

134 ^^^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book hi.

wilt feel in reading it, and this copy is as dear to me as if it
were the only one in the world. Thou must have it, Lotte ;
I have kissed it a hundred times ; have kept it locked up
that no one might touch it. O, Lotte ! And I beg thee let
no one except Meyers see it yet ; it will be published at the
Leipsic fair. I wish each to read it alone, — thou alone,
Kestner alone, — and each to write me a little word about it.
Lotte, adieu, Lotte ! "

While the public was reading the tragic story of Werthtr
through fast-flowing tears, a painful sense of indignation rose
in the breasts of Kestner and Charlotte at seeing themselves
thus dragged into publicity, their story falsified. The narra-
tive was in many respects too close to reality not to be very
offensive in its deviations from reality. The figures were un-
mistakable ; and yet they were not the real figures. The
eager public soon found out who were the principal person-
ages, and that a real history was at the bottom of the ro-
mance ; but as the whole truth could not be known, the
Kestners found themselves in a very false light. They were
hurt by this indiscretion of their friend ; more hurt perhaps
than they chose to confess ; and we may read, in the follow-
ing fragment of the sketch of the letter sent by Kestner on
receipt of the books, the accents of an offended friend whose
pride restrains the full expression of his anger : — -

" Your Werther might have given me great pleasure, since
it could have reminded me of many interesting scenes and
incidents. But as it is, it has in certain respects given me
little edification. You know I like to speak my mind.

" It is true, you have woven something new into each per-
son, or have fused several persons into one. So far good.
But if in this interweaving and fusing you had taken counsel
of your heart, you would not have so prostituted the real per-
sons whose features you borrowi You wished to draw from

I774-] PREPARATIONS FOR WERTHER. 135

Nature, that your picture might be truthful ; and yet you have
combined so much that is contradictory, that you have missed
the very mark at which you aimed. The distinguished author
will revolt against this judgment, but I appeal to reality and
truth itself when I pronounce that the artist has failed. The
real Lotte would in many instances be grieved if she were like
the Lotte you have there painted. I know well that it is said to
be a character compounded of two, but the Mrs. H. whom you
have partly inwoven was also incapable of what you attribute to
your heroine. But this expenditure of fiction was not at all
necessary to your end, to nature and truth, for it was without
any such behavior on the part of a woman — a behavior
which must ever be dishonorable even to a more than ordi-
nary woman — that Jerusalem shot himself

" The real Lotte, whose friend you nevertheless wish to be,
is in your picture, which contains too much of her not to sug-
gest her strongly : is, I say — but no, I will not say it, it pains
me already too much only to think it. And Lotte's hus-
band — you called him your friend, and God knows that he
was so — is with her.

" The miserable creature of an Albert ! In spite of its be-
ing an alleged fancy picture and not a portrait, it also has such
traits of an original (only external traits, it is true, thank God,
only external), that it is easy to guess the real person. And
if you wanted to have him act so, need you have made him
sych a blockhead ? that forthwith you might step forward and
say, see what a fine fellow I am ! "

Kestner here touches on a point of morality in literature
worth consideration. "While emphatically declaring that the
artist must take his materials from reality, must employ his
own experience, and draw from the characters he has really
known, I must emphatically declare that he is bound as a
creative artist to resist the temptation to be a mere chronicler ;

136 THE STORY OF GOETHE*S LIFE. [book hl

he is bound to reproduce the materials under new forms, not
only under forms sufficiently different from the reality to pre-
vent the public reading actual histories beneath his invention,
to prevent their recognizing the persons he has employed as
lay figures, whenever those persons are assigned parts which
they would reject, but also to present the materials under
forms which, while preserving the symbolism of events, and
retelling the old story, do nevertheless make the old story a
new one, by the peculiarity and novelty of the conditions and
characters. That is just the distinction between an artist and
an historian. There is, of course, great difficulty in keeping
to truth while avoiding the betrayal of actual occurrences ;
but it is a difficulty which is commanded by Art not less than
by Morality.

Goethe was evidently astounded at the effect his book had
produced on his friends : " I must at once write to you, my
dear and angry friends, and free my heart The thing is
done ; the book is out ; forgive me if you can. I will hear
nothing till the event has proved how exaggerated your anxi-
ety is, and till you have more truly felt, in the book itself, the
innocent mingling of fiction and truth. Thou hast, dear Kest-
ner, exhausted everything, cut away all the ground of my ex*
cuse, and left me nothing to say ; yet I know not, my heart
has still more to say, although I cannot express it. I am si-
lent, but the sweet presentiment I must still retain, and I hope
eternal Fate has that in store for me which will bind us yet
closer one to the other. Yes, dear ones, I, who am so bound
to you by love, must still remain debtor to you and your chil-
dren for the uncomfortable hours which my — name it as you
will — has given you. .... And now, my dear ones, when
anger rises within you, think, oh think only that your old
Goethe, ever and ever, and now more than ever^ is your
own."

»774l PREPARATIONS FOR WERTHER, 137

Their anger fell. They saw that he had committed an in-
discretion, but had done no more. They wrote forgiveness,
as we gather from this letter Goethe sent on the 21st of No-
vember : —

" Here I have thy letter, Kestner ! On a strange desk, in
a painter's studio, for yesterday I began to paint in oil, I have thy
letter, and must give thee my thanks I Thanks, dear friend 1
Thou art ever the same good soul ! O that I could spring
on thy neck, throw myself at Lotte's feet, one, one minute,
and all, all that should be done away with, explained, which I
could not make clear with quires of paper ! O ye unbeliev-
ing ones ! I could exclaim. Ye of little faith ! Could you
feel the thousandth part of what Werthtr is to a thousand
hearts, you would not reckon the sacrifice you have made to-
wards it ! Here is a letter, read it, and send me word quickly
what thou thinkest of it, what impression it makes on thee.
Thou sendest me Hennings's letter ; he does not condemn
me: he excuses me. Dear brother Kestner! if you will
wait, you shall be contented. I would not, to save my own
life, call back Werther, and believe me, believe in me, thy
anxieties, thy gravamina^ will vanish like phantoms of the
night if thou hast patience ; and then, between this and a
year, I promise you in the most affectionate, peculiar, fervent
manner, to disperse, as if it were a mere north-wind fog and
mist, whatever may remain of suspicion, misinterpretation,
etc., in the gossiping public, though it is a herd of swine.
Werther must — must be I You do not feel hitn^ you only
feel me and yourselves ; and that which you call stuck an^ and
in spite of you, and others, is interwoven. If I live, it is thee
I have to thank for it; thus thou art not Albert. -And
thus —

'^ Give Lotte a warm greeting for me, and say to her : ' To
]uiaw dttt your name is uttered by a tisousand hallowed I9S

128 ^-^^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book iil

with reverence, is surely an equivalent for anxieties which would
scarcely, apart from anything else, vex a person long in com-
mon life, where one is at the mercy of every tattler.'

** If you are generous and do not worry me, I will send
you letters, cries, sighs after Werther, and if you have faith,
believe that all will be well, and gossip is nothing, and weigh
well your philosopher's letter, which I have kissed.

" O then I — hast not felt how the man embraces thee, con-
soles thee, and in thy — in Lotte's worth, finds consolation
enough under the wretchedness which has terrified you even
in the fiction ? Lotte, fu-ewell, — Kestner, love me and do
not worry me."

The pride of the author in his darling breaks out m this
letter, now his friends have forgiven him. We must admit that
Kestner had reason to be annoyed : the more so as his fiiends,
identifying him with the story, wrote sympathetically about
it. He had to reply to Hennings on the subject, and in tell-
ing him the true story, begged him to correct the false re-
ports. He says : " In the first part of Werther^ Werther is
Goethe himself. In Lotte and Albert he has borrowed
traits from us, my wife and myself. Many of the scenes are
quite true, and yet partly altered ; others are, at least in our
history, unreal. For the sake of the second part, and in or-
der to prepare for the death of Werther, he Jias introduced
various things into the first part which do not at all belong to
us. For example, Lotte has never either with Goethe or
with any one else stood in the intimate relation which is there
described ; in this we have certainly great reason to be offend-
ed with him, for several accessory circumstances are too
true and too well known for people not to point to us. He
regrets it now, but of what use is that to us ? It is true he
has a great regard for my wife ; but he ought to have depicted
her more faithfully in this point, that she was too wise and

1774.] PREPARATIONS FOR WERTHER. 139

delicate ever to let him go so far as is represented in the first
part She behaved to him in such way as to make her far
dearer to me than before, if this had been possible. More-
over, our engagement was never made public, though not, it is
true, kept a secret : still she was too bashful ever to confess it
to any one. And there was no engagement between us but
that of hearts. It was not till shortly before my departure
(when Goethe had already been a year away from Wetzlar at
Frankfurt, and the disguised Werther had been dead half a
year) that we were married. After the lapse of a year, since
our residence here, we have become father and mother. The
dear boy lives still, and gives us, thank God, much joy. For
the rest, there is in Werther much of Goethe's character and
manner of thinking. Lotte's portrait is completely that of
my wife. Albert might have been made a little more ardent.
The second part of Werther has nothing whatever to do with
us. ... . When Goethe had printed his book, he sent us an
early copy, and thought we should fall into raptures with
what he had done. But we at once saw what would be the
effect, and your letter confirms our fears. I wrote very an-
grily to him. He then for the first time saw what he had
done ; but the book was printed, and he hoped our fears were
idle." In another letter to the same, Kestner says : " You
have no idea what a man he is. But when his great fire has
somewhat burnt itself out, then we shall all have the greatest
joy in him."

I40 THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE, [book m.

CHAPTER IV.

THE LITERARY LION.

Goethe was now at the perilous juncture in an author^s
career, when, having just achieved a splendid success, he is in
danger either of again snatching at laurels in presumptuous
haste, or of suffering himself to repose upon the laurels he has
won, talking of greatness instead of learning to be great Both
perils he avoided. He neither traded on his renown, nor con-
ceived that his education was complete. Wisely refraining
from completing fresh important works, he kept up the prac-
tice of his art by trifles, and the education of his genius by
serious studies. Among these trifles are Clavigo, the Jahr-
marktsfest zu PlunderswdUn^ and the Prolog zu Bakrdfs
Netusten Offmbamngm.

He was beginning to feel himself a man of consequence \
the notable men of the day eagerly sought his acquaintance.
Among these men we must note Klopstock, Lavater, Base-
dow, Jacobi, and the Stolbergs. Correspondence led to per-
sonal intercourse. Klopstock arrived in Frankfurt in this
October, 1774, just before Weriher appeared. Goethe saw
him, read the fragments of Faust to him, and discussed skat-
ing with him. But the great religious poet was too far re-
moved from the strivings of his young rival to conceive that
attachment for him which he felt for men like the Stolbergs,
or to inspire Goethe with any keen sympathy.

In June, Lavater also came to Frankfurt. This was a few
months before Klopstock's visit. He had commenced a cor-
respondence with Goethe on the occasion of the Briefs des
Pastors, Those were great days of correspondence. Letters
were written to be read in circles, and were shown about like

17741 THE LITERARY LION. 241

the last new poem. Lavater pestered his friends for their
portraits, and for ideal portraits (according to their concep-
tion) of our Saviour, all of which were destijied for the work
on Physiognomy, on which he was then engaged. The artist
who took Goethe's portrait sent Lavater the portrait of Bahrdt
instead, to see what he would make of it \ the physiognomist
was not taken in ; he stoutly denied the possibility of such a
resemblance. Yet when he saw the actual Goethe he was not
satisfied. He gazed in astonishment, exclaiming, ^ Art thou
he ? " "I am he," was the answer ; and the two embraced
each other. Still the physiognomist was dissatisfied. " I an-
swered him with my native and acquired realism, that as God
had willed to make me what I was, he, Lavater, must even
so accept me."

The first surprise over, they began to converse on the
weightiest topics. Their s)rmpathy was much greater than
appears in Goethe's narrative, written many years after the
characters of both had developed themselves.

So strong was the attraction of Lavater's society that
Goethe accompanied him to Ems. The journey was charm-
ing ; beautiful summer weather and Lavater's cheerful gayety
formed pleasant accompaniments to their religious discussions.
On returning to Frankfurt, another and very different celebri-
ty was there to distract his attention, — Basedow, the educa-
tion reformer. No greater contrast to Lavater could have
been picked out of the celebrities of that day. Lavater was
handsome, clean, cheerful, flattering, insinuating, devout;
Basedow ugly, dirty among the dirty, sarcastic, domineering,
and aggressively heterodox. One tried to restore Apostolic
Christianity ; the other could not restrain the most insolent
sarcasms on the Bible, the Trinity, and every form of Chris-
tian creed. One set up as a Prophet, the other as a Peda-
gogue.

142

THE STORY OF GOETHE: S LIFE, [book iil

Basedow (bom 1723) was also early in indicating his future
part. At school the wild and dirty boy manifested rebellious
energy against all system and all method ; studied in a desul-
tory, omnivorous manner, as if to fit himself for everything ;
ran away from home, and became a lackey in a nobleman's
house ; caught up Rousseau's doctrine about a state of Na-
ture, which he applied to Education ; wrote endless works, or
rather incessant repetitions of one work ; shouted with such
lusty lungs that men could not but hear him ; appealed to the
nation for support in his philanthropic schemes \ collected " a
rent " from philanthropists and dupes ; attacked established
institutions, and parenthetically all Christian tenets; and
proved himself a man of restless energy, and of vast and com-
prehensive ignorance. He made considerable noise in the
world ; and in private lived somewhat the life of a restless
hog who has taken to philanthropy and free thinking.

Much as such a character was opposed to his own, Goethe,
eager and inquinng, felt an attraction towards it, as towards
a character to study. Like many other studies, this had its
drawbacks. He was forced to endure the incessant smoking
and incessant sarcasms of the dirty educationist. The stench
he endured with firmness ; the anti-Christian tirades he an-
swered with paradoxes wilder than any he opposed. *' Such
a splendid opportunity of exercising, if not of elevating, my
mind," he says, " was not to be thrown away ; so prevailing
on my father and friends to undertake my law business, I
once more set off for the Rhine in Basedow's company."
Basedow filled the carriage with smoke, and killed the time
with discussions. On the way they fell in with Lavater, and
the three visited several chateaux, especially those of noble
ladies, everywhere anxious to receive the literary Lions.
Goethe, we may parenthetically note, is in error when he says
that he was on this voyage greatly pestered by the women

1774-1 ^^^ LITERARY LION, 143

wanting to know all about the truth of Werther; the fact be-
ing that Werther did not appear until the following October ;
for although the exigencies of my narrative have caused a cer-
tain anticipation in chronology, this journey with Lavater and
Basedow, here made to follow the publication of Werthery
came before it in Goethe's life. If we are not to believe that
the women crowded around him with questions about Lotte, we
can readily believe that children crowded round him, beg-
ging him to tell them stories.

Wild and "genius-like" was his demeanor. "Basedow
and I," he says, " seemed to be ambitious of proving who
could behave the most outrageously." Very characteristic is
the glimpse we catch of him quitting the ball-room, after a
heating dance, and rushing up to Basedow's room. The Phi-
lanthropist did not go to bed. He threw himself in his
clothes upon the bed, and there, in a room full of tobacco-
smoke and bad air, dictated to his scribe. When fatigue
overcame him, he slept awhile, his scribe remaining there, pen
in hand, awaiting the awakening of the Philanthropist, who,
on opening his eyes, at once resumed the flow of his dicta-
tion. Into such a room sprang the dance-heated youth, be-
gan a fierce discussion on some problem previously mooted
between them, hurried off again to look into the eyes of some
charming partner, and before the door closed, heard Base-
dow recommence dictating.

This union of philosophy with amusement, of restless the-
orizing with animal spirits, indicates the tone of his mind.
" I am contented," he said to Lavater, " I am happy. That
I feel ; and yet the whole centre of my joy is an overflowing
yearning towards something which I have not, something
which my soul perceives dimly." He could reach that " some-
thing " neither through the pious preaching of Lavater, nor
through the aggressive preaching of Basedow. Very graphic

144 THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE, [book hi.

and ludicrous is the picture he gives of his sitting like a citi-
zen of the world between a prophet on the right and a prophet
on the left hand, —

" Prophete rechts, Prophete links.
Das Welt-Kind in der Mitten," —

quietly eating a chicken while Lavater explains to a country
parson the mystery of the Revelations, and Basedow aston-
ishes a dancing-master with a scornful exposure of the inutil-
ity of baptism.*

Nor could he find this " something*' in Jacobi, with whom
he now came into sentimental intimacy. He could to some
extent sympathize with Jacobi *s sentimental cravings, and
philosophic, religious aspirations, for he was bitten with the
Wertherism of the epoch. He could gaze with him in un-
easy ecstasy upon the moonlight quivering on the silent
Rhine, and pour forth the songs which were murmuring with-
in his breast. He could form a friendship, believing it to rest
upon an eternal basis of perfect sympathy; but the inward goad
which drove him onwards and onwards was not to be blunted
until fresh experience had brought about fresh metamorpho-
ses in his development. It is the Youth we have before us
here, the Youth in his struggles and many-wandering aims,
not the Man grown into clearness.

Jacobi thought that in Goethe he had at length found the
man his heart needed, whose influence could sustain and di-
rect him. " The more I consider it," he wrote to Wieland,
" the more intensely do I feel how impossible it is for one who
who has not seen and heard Goethe, to write a word about this
extraordinary creation of God's. One needs be with him but
an hour to see that it is utterly absurd to expect him to think
and act otherwise than as he does. I do not mean that there

* See the poem ^m/ cm CMmiB.

1774-1 THE LITERARY LION, I45

is no possibility of an improvement in him ; but nothing else
is possible with his nature, which develops itself as the
flower does, as the seed ripens, as the tree grows into the air
and crowns itself.''

Goethe's ^^ondsxixA personality seems almost everywhere to
produce a similar impression. Heinse, the author of Arding-
hello^ writes of him at this period to Gleim : " Goethe was
with us, a beautiful youth of five-aud-twenty, who is all genius
and strength from head to foot, his heart full of feeling, his
soul full of fire and eagle-winged ; I know no man in the
whole History of Literature who at such an age can be com-
pared to him in fulness and completeness of genius." Those,
and they are the mass, who think of him as the calm and
stately minister, the old Jupiter throned in Weimar, will feel
some difficulty perhaps in recognizing the young Apollo of
thb period. But it must be remembered that not only was he
young, impetuous, bursting into life, and trying his eagle
wings with wanton confidence of strength ; he was, moreover,
a Rhinelander, with the gay blood of that race stimulated by
the light and generous wine of the Rhine. When I contrast
young Goethe with a Herder, for example, it is always as if a
flask of Rhenish glittered beside a seidel of Bavarian beer.

Such answer to his aspirations as the youth could at this
period receive, he found in Spinoza. In his father's library
there was a litde book written against Spinoza, one of the
many foolish refutations which that grand Hebrew's misun-
derstood system called forth. " It made little impression on me,
for I hated controversies, and always wanted to know what a
thinker thought, and not what another conceived he ought to
have thoughts It made him, however, once more read the
article Spinoza, in Bayle's Dictionary^ which he found pitia-
ble, — as indeed it is. If a philosophy is to be judged by its
fiiiits, the philosophy which guided so great and so virtuous a
7 J

146 ^-^^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE, [book hi.

life as that of Spinoza, could not, Goethe thought, deserve
the howls of execration which followed Spinozism. He pro-
cured the Opera Posthuma and studied them ; with what
fruit let the following confession indicate : " After looking
around the world in vain for the means of developing my
strange nature, I met with the Ethics of that philosopher. Of
what I read in the work, and of what I read into it, I can
give no account, but I found in it a sedative for my passions,
and it seemed to unveil a clear, broad view over the material
and moral world. But what especially riveted me to him was
the boundless disinterestedness which shone forth in every
sentence. That wonderful sentiment, He who truly loves God^
must not require God to love him in return^ together with all the
preliminary propositions on which it rests, and all the conse-
quences deduced from it, filled my mind.* To be disinter-
ested in everything, but most of all in love and friendship, was
my highest desire, my maxim, my practice, so that that saucy
speech of Fhilin^s, * If I love thee, what is that to thee ? ' was
spoken right out of my heart. Moreover, it must not be for-
gotten here that the closest unions rest on contrasts. The
all-equalizing calmness of Spinoza was in striking contrast
with my all-disturbing activity ; his mathematical method was
the direct opposite of my poetic style of thought and feeling,
and that very precision which was thought ill adapted to
moral subjects made me his enthusiastic disciple, his most de-
cided worshipper. Mind and heart, understanding and sense,
sought each other with eager affinity, binding together the
most different natures. But now all within was fermenting
and seething in action and reaction."

Although he studied Spinoza much and reverently, he

* The proposition to which Goethe refers is doubtless the xix. of
Book V. : Qui deum amat^ conari non potest^ ut Deus ipsum contra
amet, . .

1774.1 ULL 147

never studied him systematically. The mathematical form
into which that thinker casts his granite blocks of thought, was
an almost insuperable hindrance to systematic study on the
part of one so impatient, so desultory, and so unmathemati-
cal as Goethe. But a study may be very fruitful which is by
no means systematic ; a phrase may fructify, when falling on
a proper soil

CHAPTER V.

LILI.

" I MUST tell you something which makes me happy ; and
that is the visit of many excellent men of all grades, and from
all parts, who, among unimportant and intolerable visitors,
call on me often, and stay some time. We first know that we
exist, when we recognize ourselves in others (man weiss erst
dass man ist, wmn man sick in Andem wiederfindety It is
thus he writes to the Countess Augusta von Stolberg, with
whom he had formed, through correspondence, one of those
romantic friendships which celebrated men, some time in their
lives, are generally led to form. This correspondence is
among the most characteristic evidences we have of his men-
tal condition, and should be read by every one who wishes to
'correct the tone of the Autobiography, Above all, it is the
repository of his fluctuating feelings respecting Lili, the wo-
man whom, according to his statement to Eckermann, he
loved more than any other. " She was the first, and I can
also add she is the last, I truly loved ; for all the inclinations
which have since agitated my heart were superficial and triv-
ial in comparison." * There is no statement he has made
• Gesprache, III. p. 299.

148 THE STORY OF GOETHE*S LIFE, [book hi.

respecting a matter of feeling, to which one may oppose a flat-
ter contradiction. Indeed we find it difficult to believe he ut-
tered such a sentence, unless we remember how carelessly in
conversation such retrospective statements are made, and how,
at his very advanced age, the memory of youthful feelings
must have come back upon him with peculiar tenderness.
Whatever caused him to make that statement, the statement
is very questionable. It nowhere appears that he loved Lili
more than Frederika ; and we shall hereafter have positive
evidence that his love for the Frau von Stein, and for his wife,
was of a much deeper and more enduring nature. " My love
for Lili," he said to Eckermann, " had something so peculiar
and delicate that even now it has influenced my style in the
narrative of that painfully happy epoch. When you read the
fourth volume of my Autobiography y you will see that my love
was something quite different from love in novels."

Well, the fourth volume is now open to every one, and he
must have peculiar powers of divination who can read any
profound passion in the narrative. A colder love-history was
never written by a poet. There is no emotion warming the
narrative ; there is little of a loving recollection, gathering all
details into one continuous story j it is, indeed, with great diffi-
culty one unravels the story at all. He seems to seize every ex-
cuse to interrupt the narrative by general reflections, or by
sketches of other people. He speaks of himself as " the
youth of whom we now write " I He speaks of her, and her
circle, in the vaguest manner ; and the feelings which agitat-
ed him we must " read between the lines."

It is very true, however, that the love there depicted is unlike
the love depicted in novels. In novels, whatever may be the
amount of foolishness with which the writers adumbrate their
ideal of the passion, this truth, at least, is everywhere set forth,
that to love we must render up body and soul, heart and

1774] -^/^^. 149

mind, all interests and all desires, all prudences and all am-
bitions, identifying our being with that of another, in union
to become elevated. To love is for the soul to choose a com*
panion, and travel with it along the perilous defiles and wind-
ing ways of life ; mutually sustaining, when the path is terri-
ble with dangers, mutually exhorting, when it is rugged with
obstructions, and mutually rejoicing, when rich broad plains
and sunny slopes make the journey a delight, showing in the
quiet distance the resting-place we all seek in this world.

It was not such companionship he sought with Lili ; it was
not such self-devotion which made him restlessly happy in her
love. This child of sixteen, in all the merciless grace of
maidenhood, proudly conscious of her power, ensnared his
roving heart through the lures of passionate desire, but she
never touched his soul ; as the story we have to tell will suffi-
ciently prove.

Anna Elizabeth Schonemann, immortalized as Lili, was the
daughter of a great banker in Frankfurt, who lived in the
splendid style of merchant princes. She was sixteen when
Goethe first fell in love with her. The age is significant. It
was somewhat the age of Frederika, Lotte, Antoinette, and
Maximiliane : an age when girlhood has charms of grace and
person, of beauty and freshness, which even those will not
deny who profoundly feel the superiority of a developed wo-
man. There is poetry in this age ; but there is no depth,
no fulness of character. Imagine the wide-sweeping mind of
the author of Gotz^ Faust, Prometheus, The Wandering Jew,
Mahomet, in companionship with the mind of a girl of six'
teen !

Nor was Lili an exceptional character. Young, graceful,
and charming, she was confessedly a coquette. Early in their
acquaintance, in one of those pleasant hours of overflowing
egotism wherein lovers take pride in the confession of faults

150 THE STORY OF GOETHE* S LIFE, [book IIL

(not without intimation also of nobler qualities), Lili told him
the story of her life ; told him what a flirt she had been \ told
him, moreover, that she had tried her spells on him, and was
punished by being herself ensnared. Armida found herself
spell-bound by Rinaldo ; but this Rinaldo followed her into
the enchanted gardens more out of adventurous curiosity than
love.

There was considerable difference in their stations; and
the elegant society of the banker's house was every way dis-
cordant to the wild youth, whose thoughts were of Nature and
unconstrained freedom. The balls and concerts to which he
followed her were little to his taste. " If," he writes to Au-
gusta von Stolberg, — " if you can imagine a Goethe in a braid-
ed coat, from head to foot in the gallantest costume, amid
the glare of chandeliers, fastened to the card-table by a pair
of bright eyes, surrounded by all sorts of people, driven in
endless dissipation from concert to ball, and with frivolous
interest making love to a pretty blonde, then will you have a
picture of the present Carnival-Goethe."

Lili coquetted, and her coquetry seems to have cooled his
passion for a while, though she knew how to rekindle it. She
served him as he served poor Kathchen, in Leipsic ; and as
in Leipsic he dramatized his experience under the form oiDie
Laune des Verliebten^ so here he dramatizes the new experience
in an opera, Erwin und Elmire^ wherein the coquetry of a
mistress brings a lover to despair, — a warning to Lili, which
does not seem to have been altogether without effect

Not only had he to suffer from her thoughtlessness, but also
from the thoughtfulness of parents on both sides. It was not
a marriage acceptable to either house. The banker's daugh-
ter, it was thought, should marry into some rich or noble
family. A poet, who belonged to a well-to-do yet compara-
tively unimportant family, was not exactly the bridegroom

1774] I'ILL 151

most desired. On die other hand, the proud, stiflf old Rath
did not greatly rejoice in the prospect of having a fine lady
for his daughter-in-law. Cornelia, who knew her father, and
knew his pedantic ways, wrote strongly against the marriage.
Merck, Crespel, Horn, and other friends, were all decidedly
opposed to so incompatible a match. But of course the
lovers were only thrown closer together by these attempts to
separate them.

A certain Demoiselle Delf managed to overcome objections,
and gain the consent of both ^milies. ^' How she commenced
it, how she got over the difficulties, I know not, but one
evening she came to us bringing the consent. *Take each
other's hands,' she cried in a half-pathetic, half-imperious
manner ; I advanced to Lili and held out my hand : in it she
placed hers, not indeed reluctantly, yet slowly. With a deep
sigh we sank into each other's arms, gready agitated." No for-
mal betrothal seems to have taken place. Indeed, the con-
sent which was obtained seems in nowise to have altered the
feeling of friends and relatives. The nearer marriage seemed,
the more impracticable it appeared. To Goethe, after the
first flush of joy had subsided, the idea of marriage was in
itself enough to make him uneasy, and to sharpen his sense
of the disparity in station. The arrival of the two Counts
Stolberg, and their proposal that he should accompany them
in a tour through Switzerland, gave an excuse for freeing him-
self from Lili, " as an experiment to try whether he could re-
nounce her."

Before accompanying him on his journey, it is necessary to
cast a retrospective glance at some biographical details, omit-
ted while the story of Lili was narrated. The mornings were
devoted to poetry, the middle of the day to jurisprudence.
Poetry was the breathing-room of his heart. In it he sought
to escape from the burden of intolerable doubts. ^' If I did

152 THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book iil

not write dramas I should be lost," he tells Augusta von
Stolberg. Among these dramas we must place Stella^ for
which, as we learn from a letter to Merck, the publisher
offered twenty dollars, — that is to say, three pounds sterling.
What an insight this gives into the state of literature ; the
author of two immensely popular works is offered three
pounds for a drama in five acts I Poor Schiller, subsequently,
was glad to write histories and translate memoirs for fifteen
or eighteen shillings the sheet of sixteen pages.

Besides Stella^ he seemed to have worked at Faust, and to
have written the opera of Claudine von Villa Bella, several
passages for Lavater's Physiognomy, and many smaller poems.

The Stolbergs, with whom the Swiss journey was made,
were two ardent admirers of Klopstock, and two specimens
of the defiant "genius" class which scorned convention.
They hated imaginary tyrants; outraged sober citizens by
their reckless recurrence to a supposed state of Nature ; and
astonished sensible citizens by their exaggerated notions of
friendship. Merck was pitiless in his sarcasms and warn-
ings. He could not tolerate the idea of Goethe's travelling
with these Burschen. But Goethe had too much of kindred
deviltry in him, breaking out at moments, to object to the
wildness of his companions ; though he began to suspect all
was not right when, after violating every other convenance,
they insisted on bathing in public. Nature having nothing
to say against naked youths in the bright sunshine, what
business had old Humdrum to cover its eyes with modest
hands, and pretend to be shocked ? However, so little pre-
possessed was Humdrum in favor of the Nude, that stones
were showered upon these children of Nature, — a criticism
which effectively modified their practice, if it failed to alter
their views.

Drinking the health of Stolbeig's mistress, and then dash-

1774^] LILL 153

ing the glasses against the wall to prevent their being dese-
crated by other lips after so solemn a consecration (a process
which looked less heroic when iUnCd in the bill next day),
and otherwise demeaning themselves like true children of
" genius," they passed a wild and merry time. This journey
need not longer detain us. Two visits alone deserve men-
tion. One was to Karl August, who was then in Karlsruhe
arranging his marriage with the Princess Luise, and who very
pressingly invited the poet to Weimar. The other was to his
sister Cornelia, who earnestly set before him all the objec-
tions to a marriage with LilL "I made no promises,*' he
says, " although forced to confess that she had convinced
me. I left her with that strange feeling in my heart with which
passion nourishes itself; for the boy Cupid clings obstinately
to the garment of Hope even when she is preparing with
long strides to depart." The image of Lili haunted him
amid the lovely scenes of Nature. It was her image which
endeared him to his native land. His father, always desirous
he should see Italy, was now doubly anxious he should go
there, as the surest means of a separation from Lili. But
"Lombardy and Italy," says the poet, "lay before me a
strange land ; while the dear home of Germany lay behind,
lull of sweet domesticities, and where — let me confess it —
she lived who so long had enchained me, in whom my exist-
ence was centred. A little golden heart, which in my happi-
est hours I had received from her, still hung round my neck.
I drew it forth and covered it with kisses."

On his return to Frankfurt he learned that Lili's friends
had taken advantage of his absence to try and bring about
a separation, arguing, not without justice, that his absence
was a proof of lukewarmness. But Lili remained firm ; and
it was said that she had declared herself willing to go with
him to America. A sentence from the Autobiography is
7*

154

THE STORY OF GOETHE* S LIFE. [book hi.

worth quoting, as a specimen of that love " so unlike the
love to be found in novels," which he declared had given a
peculiar tone to his narrative. It is in reference to this will-
ingness of Lili to go to America : " The very thing which
should have animated my hopes depressed them. My fair
paternal house, only a few hundred paces from hers, was
after all more endurable and attractive than a remote, hazard-
ous spot beyond the seas ! " A sentence which recalls Gib-
bon's antithesis, on his resignation of his early love: "I
sighed as a lover, I obeyed as a son."

He was restless and unhappy during these months, for he
was not strong enough to give up Lili, nor sufficiently in love
to marry her; jealous of those who surrounded her, hurt by
her coldness, he was every now and then led captive by her
tenderness. There were moments when bygone days seemed
once more restored, and then instantly vanished again. His
poem of Liirs Mknagerie expresses his surly disgust at the
familiar faces which surround her. The Bear of the menage-
rie is a portrait of himself

Turning to Art for consolation, he began the tragedy of
Egmont, which he completed many years afterwards in Italy.
It was a work which demanded more repose than could be
found in his present condition, and I hasten to the dknouement
of an episode which, amid fluctuations of feeling, steadily
advanced to an end that must have been foreseen. The
betrothal was cancelled. He was once more free. Free, but
not happy. His heart still yearned for her, rather because
there lay in his nature a need of loving, than because she
was the woman fitted to share his life. He lingered about
the house o' nights, wrapped in his mantle, satisfied if he
could catch a glimpse of her shadow on the blind as she
moved about the room. One night he heard her singing at
the piano. His pulses throbbed as he distinguished his own
song, —

I774-] LIU. 155

" Wherefore so resistlessly dost draw me
Into scenes so bright ? " —

the song he had written in the morning of their happiness I
Her voice ceased. She rose and walked up and down the
room, little dreaming that her lover was heneath her window.
To give decision to his wavering feelings, there came, most
opportunely, a visitor to Frankfurt Karl August, with his
bride, on his way to Weimar, once more pressed him to
spend a few weeks at his court The rapid inclination which
had sprung up between the Prince and the Poet, — the de-
sire to see something of the great world, — the desire, more-
over, to quit Frankfurt, all combined to make him eagerly
accept the invitation. His father, indeed, tried to dissuade
him ; partly because he did not like the intercourse of plain
citizens with princes ; partly because the recent experience
of Voltaire with Frederick the Great seemed to point to an
inevitable termination in disgrace, if not evaded by servility.
His consent was extorted at last, however, and Goethe quit-
ted forever the paternal rooil

BOOK THE FOURTH.

1775 TO 1779!

CHAPTER I.

WEIBIAR IN THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY.

On the 7th of November, 1775, Goethe, aged twenty-six,
arrived at the little city on the banks of the Ilm, where his
long residence was to confer on an insignificant Duchy the
immortal renown of a German Athens.

Small indeed is the space occupied on the map by the
Duchy of Saxe-Weimar, yet the historian of the German
Courts declares, and truly, that after Berlin there is no Court
of which the nation is so proud.* Frederick the Great and
Wolfgang Goethe have raised these Courts into centres of un-
dying interest Of Weimar it is necessary we should form a
distinct idea, if we would understand the outward life of the
poet

** Klein ist unter den FUrsten Germaniens freillch der meine,
Kun und schmal ist sein Land, massig nur was er vennag."

** Small among German princes is mine, poor and narrow his
kingdom, limited his power of doing good." Thus sings
Goethe in that poem, so honorable to both, wherein he ac-
knowledges his debt to Karl August The geographical im-
portance of Weimar was and is small ; but we in England
have proud reason to know how great a place in the world

• Vehss : Gesckkkte der DetUscken Hbfe seii der RrforwuUion, VoL
XXVIII. p. 3.

1775] WEIMAR IiV THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY, 1 57

can be filled by a nation whose place is trivial on the map.
We know, moreover, that the Athens which it is the pride of
Weimar to claim as a patronymic was but a dot upon the sur-
face of Europe, — a dot of earth, feeding some twenty thou-
sand freemen, who ncA only extended the empire of their arms
from Euboea to the Thracian Bosphorus, but who left their
glories in Literature, Philosophy, and Art, as marvels and a^
models for the civilized world. It is interesting, therefore, ta
know how small this Duchy of Saxe-Weimar was, that wa
may appreciate the influence exercised by means so circum-
scribed. We must know how absurdly scant the income of
its generous prince, who, as I am credibly informed, would
occasionally supply the deficiencies of his purse by the prince-
ly unprinceliness of selling to the Jews a diamond ring or
ancestral snuff-box, that he might hand the proceeds to some
struggling artist or poet I mention this lest it should be sup-
posed that a sarcastic spirit has dictated the enumeration of
unimposing details in the following attempt to reconstruct
some image of Weimar and its Court

Weimar is an ancient city on the Ilm, a small stream rising
in the Thuringian forests, and losing itself in the Saal, at
Jena ; this stream, on which the sole navigation seems to be
that of ducks, meanders peacefully through pleasant valleys, ex-
cept during the rainy season, when mountain-torrents swell
its current, and overflow its banks. The Trent, between
Trentham and Stafford, — " the smug and silver Trent," as
Shakespeare calls it, — will give an idea of this stream. The
town is charmingly placed in the Ilm valley, and stands some
eight hundred feet above the level of the sea. " Weimar,"
says the old topographer, Mathew Merian, "is WeinmaVy
because it was the wine market for Jena and its envi-
rons. Others say it was because some one *here in ancient
days began to plant the vine, who was hence called Wein-

Ijg THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book iv.

mayer. But of this each reader may believe just what he
pleases." *

On a first acquaintance, Weimar seems more like a village
bordering a park, than a capital with a Court, having all court-
ly environments. It is so quiet, so simple ; and although an-
cient in its architecture, has none of the picturesqueness
which delights the eye in most old German cities. The stone-
colored, light brown, and apple-green houses have high-peaked
slanting roofs, but no quaint gables, no caprices of archi-
tectural fancy, none of the mingling of varied styles which,
elsewhere charms the traveller. One learns to love its quiet
simple streets, and pleasant paths, fit theatre for the simple
actors moving across the scene ; but one must live there
some time to discover its charm. The aspect it presented,
when Goethe arrived, was of course very different from that
presented now ; but by diligent inquiry we may get some
rough image of the place restored. First be it noted that the
city walls were still erect ; gates and portcullis still spoke of
days of warfare. Within these walls were six or seven hun-
dred houses, not more, most of them very ancient. Under
these roofs were about seven thousand inhabitants, — for the
most part not handsome. The city gates were strictly guard-
ed. No one could pass through them in cart or carriage
without leaving his name in the sentinel's book ; even Goethe,
minister and favorite, could not escape this tiresome formali-
ty, as we gather from one of his letters to the Frau von Stein,
directing her to go out alone, and meet him beyond the gates,
iest their exit together should be known. During Sunday
service a chain was thrown across the streets leading to the
church, to bar out all passengers ; a practice to this day par-
tially retained :jthe chain is fastened, but the passengers step
over it without ceremony. There was little safety at night in

* T\fpographia Superioris Saxonugf Tkuriftgia, etc, 1650^ p. 188.

I

I77S-1 WEIMAR IN THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. 1 59

those jlent streets ; for if you were in no great danger from
marauders, you were in constant danger of breaking a limb
in some hole or other ; the idea of lighting streets not having
presented itsdf to the Thuringian mind. In the year 1685
the streets of London were first lighted with lamps : in 1775
Germany had not yet ventured on that experiment If in
1854 Weimar is still innocent of gas, and perplexes its in-
habitants with the dim obscurity of an occasional oil-lamp
slung on a cord across Jie streets, we can suppose that in
1775 it ^^^ °ot ^ven advai^c^d so far. And our supposition
is exact.*

The palace, which now fon«fS three sides of a quadrangle,
and is truly palatial in appearance, was in ashes when Goethe
arrived. The ducal pair inhabitv^d the Fiinstenhaus, which
stands opposite. The park was not i^i existence. In its place .
there was the Weische Garten^ a gaiden arranged after the
pattern of Versailles, with trees trimmed into set shapes, with
square beds, canals, bridges, and a IVbylonic spiral tower
called Die Schnecke^ in which the people assembled to hear
music, and to enjoy punch and sweet cakev To the left of this
garden stood the nucleus of the present p.irk, and a wooded
mass stretching as far as Upper Weimar.

Saxe-Weimar has no trade, no manufactcres, no animation
of commercial, political, or even theological activity. This part
of Saxony, be it remembered, was the home atid shelter of Prot-
estantism in its birth. Only a few miles fro^n Weimar stands
the Wartburg, where Luther, in the disguise of Squire George,
lived in safety, translating the Bible, and hurling his inkstand

• In a decree made at Cassel, in 1775, this sentence is noticeable :
** In every house, as soon as the alarum sounds at night, every inhabitant
must hold out a lighted lantern, in order that the people may find their
way in the streets." Quoted by Bi£DE&mann, DeuUchland im \%ten
JakrkwuUrt^ I. p. 37a

l6o THE STORY OF GOETHE:s LIFE, [book iv.

at the head of Satan, like a rough-handed disputant as he was.
In the market-place of Weimar stand to this day two houses,
from the windows of which Tetzel advertised his indulgences,
and Luther afterwards in fiery indignation fulminated against
them. These records of religious struggle still remain, but
are no longer suggestions for the continuance of the strife.
The fire is burnt out; and perhaps in no city of Europe
is theology so placid, so entirely at rest. The Wartburg still
rears its picturesque eminence over the lovely Thuringian val-
leys ; and Luther's room is visited by thousands of pilgrims ;
but in this very palace of the Wartburg, besides the room
where Luther struggled with Satan, the visitors are shown the
Banqueting Hall of the Minnesingers, where poet challenged
poet, and the Sdngerkrieg, or Minstrels' Contest, was celebrat-
ed. The contrast may be carried further. It may be taken
as a symbol of the intellectual condition of Saxe-Weimar,
that while the relics of Luther are simply preserved, the Min-
strel Hall is now being restored in more than its pristine
splendor. Lutheran theology is crumbling away, just as the
famous inkspot has disappeared beneath the gradual scrap-
ings of visitors* pen-knives ; but the minstrelsy of which the
Germans are so proud daily receives fresh honor and adula-
tion. Nor is this adulation a mere revival. Every year the
Wartburg saw assembled the members of that numerous family
(the Bachs) which, driven from Hungary in the early period
of Reform, had settled in Saxony, and had given, besides the
great John Sebastian Bach, many noble musicians to the
world. Too numerous to gain a livelihood in one city, the
Bachs agreed to meet every year at the Wartburg. This cus-
tom, which was continued till the close of the eighteenth cent-
ury, not only presented the singular spectacle of one family
consisting of no less than a hundred and twenty musicians,
but was also the occasion of musical entertainments such as

1775] IVEIMAR IN THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY, igi

were never heard before. They began by religious hymns,
sung in chorus ; they then took for their theme some popular
song, comic or licentious, varying it by the improvisation of
four, five, or six parts ; these improvisations were named Quo-
libetSy and are considered by many writers to have been the
origin of German opera.

The theologic fire has long burnt itself out in Thuringia.
In Weimar, where Luther preached, another preacher came,
whom we know as Goethe. In the old church there is one
portrait of Luther, painted by his friend Lucas Kranach,
greatly prized, as well it may be ; but for this one portrait of
Luther, there" are a hundred of Goethe. It is not Luther, but
Goethe, they think of here ; poetry, not theology, is the glory
of Weimar. And, corresponding with this, we find the dom-
inant characteristic of the place to be no magnificent church,
no picturesque ancient buildings, no visible image of the
earlier ages, but the sweet serenity of a lovely park. The
park fills the foreground of the picture, and always rises first
in the memory. Any one who has spent happy hours wan-
dering through its sunny walksi and winding shades, watching
its beauties changing through the fulness of summer, and the
striking contrasts of autumn as it deepens into winter, will
easily understand how Goethe could have been content to
live in so small a city, which had, besides its nest of ftiends,
so charming a park. It was indeed mainly his own creation ;
and as it filled a large space in his life, it demands more than
a passing allusion here.

Southwards from the palace it begins, with no obstacle of
wall or iron gate, servant or sentinel, to seem to shut us out,
so let us enter and look round. In the dew of morning, and
in the silence of moonlight, we may wander undisturbed as
if in our own grounds. The land stretches for miles away
without barrier; park and yellow corn-lands forming one

l62 THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book iv.

friendly expanse. If we pass into it from the palace gates, a
winding path to the right conducts us into the Belvedere
AUde, — a magnificent avenue of chestnut-trees, two miles
long, stretching from the new street to the summer palace of
Belvedere. This affords a shaded promenade along the
park, in summer grateful for its coolness, in autumn looking
like an avenue of golden trees. It terminates in the gardens
of the Belvedere, which has its park also beautifully disposed.
Here the Weimarians resort, to enjoy the fresh air after
their fashion, namely, with accompaniments of bad beer,
questionable coffee, and detestable tobacco.

If, instead of turning into the Belvedere AU^e, we keep
within the park, our walks are so numerous that choice be-
comes perplexing. Let us cross the Stem Brucke^ a bridge
leading from the palace. Turning to our right and passing
along through noble trees, we reach the broad road leading
to Upper Weimar. On this road, which skirts a meadow
washed by the Ilm, we shall pass Goethe's Gartenhaus (Gar-
den House, to be described hereafter), and then winding
round the meadow, cross another bridge, and enter a shad-
owy path, picturesque with well-grouped trees, — the solemn
pine, the beech whose dark green patches of moss increase
the brilliancy of its silver bark, the weeping birch with its
airy elegance of form, the plane-tree, the elm, the chestnut,
and the mountain-ash brilliant with berries hanging like
clusters of coral against the deep blue of the sky. One
steep side of this path is craggy with masses of moss-covered
rock ; beneath the other flows the Ilm. A few paces from the
bridge which leads us here stands the Borkenhaus (Bark
House), a hermit's hut, erected by Goethe for a f(Ste of the
duchess, and subsequently the favorite residence of the duke.
It is only twenty feet long and fourteen deep, built entirely
of wood, smd plastered (so to speak) wi^ th^4>ariL of trees.

I775i WEIMAR IN THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. 163

It rests against a rock amid the trees, and is surrounded by
a wooden gallery, reached by rough wooden steps. Where
is the prince who would live in such a hut nowadays?
AVhere are, the ministers who would attend council in such a
hut? Yet here Karl August lived alone, glad to escape
from the tedium of etiquette, and the palling pleasures of a
little court. Here he debated affairs of state, not less mo-
mentous to him because they were trivial in European poli-
tics. Here he bathed in the Ilm running beneath. Here he
could see the Garden House of his poet, and make signs to
him across the park. In this single room, which was at
once dining-room, council-chamber, study, and bedroom, the
manly duke lived alone for months.

From the Borkenhaus a small flight of stone steps conducts
us to a mimic Ruin, and thence a narrow winding path leads
to a stone monument, interesting as a witness to the growth
of a mythos. It is an antique column, four feet high, round
which a serpent winds, in the act of devouring the offering
cakes on the top. The inscription says, Genio Loci, But the
Weimar /^^j, disregarding antique symbols, and imperfectly
acquainted with Viigil, has a legend to tell ; a legend sprung,
no one knows whence, rapid and mysterious as the growth
of fungi, like most legends, to satisfy the imperious crav-
ing for explanations; 3, legend which certifies how, for-
merly, a huge serpent dwelt in this spot, the terror of Wei-
mar, until a cunning baker bethought him of placing poi-
soned cakes within the monster's reach; and when the
greedy ignorance of the serpent had relieved Weimar of
the monster, a grateful people erected this monument to
an energetic and inventive baker : jEt voiid comme on icrit
rhistoire.

I will not fatigue the reader by dragging him all over this
much-loved park, which must be enjoyed directly, not through

1 64 THE STORY OF GOETHE* S LIFE. [book iv.

description;* enough for present purposes if it be added
that while the summer palace of Belvedere is connected with
Weimar by the chestnut avenue, the summer palace and park
of Tiefurt is also connected with Wiemar by a richly wooded
road, the WebichL This Tiefurt is a tiny little place, quite a
curiosity of diminutiveness. The park, through which runs
a branch of the Ilm, is tiny but picturesque. The upper
story of the palace is a labyrinth of tiny rooms, some of
them so small that, standing with your back against one wall,
you can touch the opposite wall with your hand. It was here
the Duchess Amalia lived.

" I have lived here fifty years," said Goethe to Eckermann,
" and where have I not been ? but I was always glad to re-
turn to Weimar." The stranger may wonder wherein lies the
charm ; but a residence at Weimar soon reveals the secret.
Among the charms are the environs. First there is Etters-
burg, with its palace, woods, and park, some seven miles
distant Then there is Bercka with its charming valley, dear
to all pedestrians, within half a dozen miles ; a little farther
is Jena and its enchanting valley, from whose heights we look
dbwn on the sombre city, rendered illustrious by so many
sounding names. Jena was to science what Weimar was to
poetry. Assembled there were men like Griesbach, Paulus,
Baumgarten-Crusius, and Danz, to teach theology ; Stfhelling,
Fichte, Hegel, Reinhold, and Fries, to teach philosophy ;
Loder, Hufeland, Oken, Dobereiner, to teach science ; Luden,
Schultz, and others, for history. The Schlegels and the
Humboldts also lent their lustre to the place. Besides Jena,
we must mention Ilmenau, Eisenach, the Thuringian forests,
and the valley of the Saal : environs attractive enough for
the most restless wanderer.

• If a fuller description be desired, the reader will find one in the
charming pages of Stahr's Weimar und Jena^ to which I take this occa-
sion of acknowledging a large debt.

I775J WEIMAR IN THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY, 165

Having thus sketched the main features oixh^ place, it will
now be desirable to give some indication of the times ^ that we
may understand the atmosphere in which Goethe lived. Dif-
ficult as the restoration of Weimar has been to me, and only
possible through the aid of what still remains from the old
time, the difficulty has been tenfold with regard to the more
changing aspects of society and opinion. Curiously enough
the Germans, famous for writing on all subjects, have pro-
duced no work on the state of manners and the domestic
conditions of this much-be written period. The books on
Goethe are endless ; there is not one which tells us of the
outward circumstances among which he moved. From far
and wide I have gathered together some details which may
aid in forming a picture.

Remember that we are in the middle of the eighteenth
century. The French Revolution is as yet only gathering its
forces together ; nearly twenty years must elapse before the
storm breaks. The chasm between that time and our own is
vast and deep. Every detail speaks of it. To begin with
Science, — everywhere the torch of civilization, — it is enough
to say that Chemistry did not then exist. Abundant materi-
als indeed existed, but that which makes a science, namely, the
power oi prevision based on quantitative knowledge, was still
absent ; and Alchemy maintained its place among the con-
flicting hypotheses of the day. Goethe in Frankfurt was
busy with researches after the " virgin earth." The philoso-
pher's stone had many eager seekers. In 1787, Semler sent
to the Academy of Berlin his discovery that gold grew in a
certain atmospheric salt, when kept moist and warm. Kla-
proth, in the name of the Academy, examined jhis salt, and
found indeed gold leaf in it — which had been put there by
Semler's servant to encourage his master's credulity. This
age, so incredulous in religion, was credulous in science.

1 66 THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book iv.

In spite of all the labors of the encyclopedists, in spite of
all the philosophic and religious "enlightenment," in spite of
Voltaire and La Mettrie, it was possible for Count St Ger-
main and Cagliostro to delude thousands; and Casanova
found a dupe in the Marquise d'Urf(f, who believed he could
restore her youth, and make the moon impregnate her ! It
was in 1774 that Mesmer astonished Vienna with his marvels
of mystic magnetism. The secret societies of Freemasons
and lUuminati, mystic in their ceremonies and chimerical in
their hopes, — now in quest of the philosopher's stone, now in
quest of the perfectibility of mankind, — a mixture of religious,
political, and mystical reveries, flourished in all parts of Ger-
many, and in all circles.

With science in so imperfect a condition, we are sure to
find a corresponding poverty in material comfort and luxury.
High-roads, for example, were only found in certain parts of
Germany; Prussia had no chausste till 1787. Milestones
were unknown, although finger-posts existed. Instead of fa-
cilitating the transit of travellers, it was thought good political
economy to obstruct them, for the longer they remained the
more money they spent in the country. A century earlier,
stage-coaches were known in England ; but in Germany, pub-
lic conveyances, very rude to this day in places where no
railway exists, were few and miserable; nothing but open
carts with unstuffed seats. Diligences on springs were
unknown before 1800 ; and what they were, even twenty
years ago, many readers doubtless remember. Then as to
speed. In 1754 there was **the flying coach" running from
Manchester to London, but taking four days and a half on
the journey. In 1763 there was a coach between Edinburgh
and London, once a month ; it passed twelve or fourteen
days on the road ; though even in our own stage-coach days
the distance was performed in forty-eight hours. And as

1775'] WEIMAR IN THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. 167

England was a busy nation, always in a hurry, ^^ may gather
from these details some idea of the rapidity of German travel
Germans were not flurried by agitations as to loss of time : if
you travelled post, it was said with pride that seldom more
than an hour's waiting was necessary before the horses were
got ready, — at least on frequented routes. Mail travelling
was at the rate of five English miles in an hour and a quarter.
Letters took nine days from Berlin to 'Frankfurt, which in
1854 required only twenty-four hours. So slow was the com-
munication of news that, as we learn from the Stein corre-
spondence, the death of Frederick the Great was only known
in Carlsbad as a rumor a week afterwards. ''By this
time," writes Goethe, "you must know in Weimar if it be
true." With these obstacles to locomotion, it was natural
that men travelled but rarely, and mostly on horseback.
What the inns were may be imagined from the infrequency of
travellers, and the general state of domestic comfort.

The absence of comfort and luxury (luxury as distinguished
from ornament) may be gathered from the Memoirs of the
time, and from such works as Bertuch's Mode Journal. Such
necessities as good locks, doors that shut, drawers opening
easily, tolerable knives, carts on springs, or beds fit for a
Christian of any other than " the German persuasion," are
still (1854) rarities in Thuringia; but in those days, when
sewers were undreamed of, and a post-office was only a vision,
much that we modems consider as comfort was necessarily
wanting. The furniture, even of palaces, was extremely sim-
ple. In the houses of wealthy bourgeois, chairs and tables
were of common deal ; not until the close of the eighteenth
century did mahogany make its appearance. Looking-glasses
followed. The chairs were covered with a coarse green
cloth ; the tables likewise ; and carpets are only now begin-
ning to loom upon the national mind as a possible luxury.

l68 THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book iv.

The windows were hung with woollen curtains, when the ex-
travagance of curtains was ventured on. Easy-chairs were
unknown ; the only arm-chair allowed was the so-called
grandfather's chair^ which was reserved for the dignity of
gray hairs, or the feebleness of ill health.

The salon de rkepiion^ or drawing-room, into which greatly
honored visitors were shown, had of course a kind of Sunday
splendor, not dimmed by week-day familiarity. There
hung the curtains ; the walls were adorned with family por-
traits or some work of native talent ; the tables alluring the
eye with china, in guise of cups, vases, impossible shepherds,
and very allegorical dogs. Into this room the honored vis-
itor was ushered ; and there, no matter what the hour, re-
freshment Qf some kind was handed. This custom — a
compound product of hospitality and bad inns — lingered until
lately in England, and perhaps is still not unknown in provin-
cial towns.

On eating and drinking was spent the surplus now devoted
to finery. No one then, except gentlemen of the first water,
boasted of a gold snuff-box ; even a gold-headed cane was an
unusual elegance. The dandy contented himself with a
silver watch. The fine lady blazoned herself with a gold
watch and heavy chain ; but it was an heirloom I To see a
modern dinner-service glittering with silver, glass, and china,
and to think that even the nobility in those days ate off pew-
ter, is enough to make the lapse of time very vivid to us. A
silver teapot and tea-tray were held as princely magnificence.

The manners were rough and simple. The journeymen
ate at the same table with their masters, and joined in the
coarse jokes which then passed for hilarity. Filial obedience
was rigidly enforced ; the stick or strap not unfrequently
aiding parental authority. Even the brothers exercised an
almost paternal authority over their sisters. Indeed, the posi-

1775] WEIMAR IN THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY, 169

tion of women was by no means such as our women can hear
of with patience ; not only were they kept under the paternal,
marital, and fraternal yoke, but society limited their actions
by its prejudices still more than it does now. No woman of
the better class of citizens could go out alone ; the servant-
girl followed her to church, to a shop, or even to the prom-
enade.

The coarseness of language may be imagined from our
own literature of that period. The roughness of manners is
shown by such a scene as that in Wilhelm Meister^ where the
Schone Seele in her confessions (speaking of high, well-born
society), narrates how, at an evening party, forfeits were intro-
duced ; one of these forfeits is, that a gentleman shall say
something gallant to every lady present ; he whispers in the
ear of a lady, who boxes his ears, and boxes with such vio-
lence that the powder from his hair flies into a lady's eyes ;
when she is enabled to see again, it is to see that the husband
of the lady has drawn his sword, and stabbed the offender,
and that a duel, in the very presence of these women, is only
prevented by one of the combatants being dragged from the
room.

The foregoing survey would be incomplete without some
notice of the prices of things ; the more so as we shall learn
hereafter that the pension Karl August gave Schiller was 200
thalers, — about 30 /. of our money ; that the salary of Seck-
endorf as ^aww^/^^r was only 600 thalers, or about 100/. ;
and that the salary Goethe received, as Councillor of Lega-
tion, was only 1,200 thalers, about 200/. per annum. It is
necessary I should indicate something like the real relation
of these sums to the expense of living. We find, in Schiller's
correspondence with Korner, that he hires a riding-horse for
sixpence a day (Vol. I. p. 84), and gets a manuscript fairly
copied at the rate of three halfpence a sheet of sixteen pages
8

170 THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE, [book iv.

(Vol. I. p. 92) ; with us the charge is twopence for every
seventy-two words : the whole of Don Carlos cost but three
and sixpence for copying. He hires a furnished apartment,
consisting of two rooms and a bedroom, for two pounds
twelve and sixpence a quarter (Charlotte von Kalb writing to
Jean Paul, November, 1776, says his lodgings will only cost
him ten dollars, or thirty shillings, a quarter) ; while his male
servant, who in case of need can act as secretary, is to be
had for eighteen shillings a quarter (Vol. I. p. iii). Reckon-
ing up his expenses, he says, " Washing, servants, the barber,
and such things, all paid quarterly, and none exceeding six
shillings : so that, speaking in round numbers, I shall hardly
need more than four hundred and fifty dollars '* (Vol. II. p.
94) ; that is, about 70 /. a year. Even when he is married,
and sees a family growing round him, he says, " With eight
hundred dollars I can live here, in Jena, charmingly, — recht
artig'' (Vol. 11. p. 153).

It is evident that in Weimar they led no very sumptuous
life. A small provincial town overshadowed by a Court, its
modes of life were the expression of this contrast The peo-
ple, a slow, heavy, ungraceful, ignorant, but good-natured,
happy, honest race, feeding on black bread and sausages.
Rising higher, there were the cultivated classes of employees,
artists, and professors ; and higher still, the aristocracy. In
the theatre, until 1825, the nobility alone were allowed ad-
mission to the boxes ; and when the Jena students crowded
the pit, elbowing out the Weimar public, that public was
forced to return home, or jostle with the students for seats in
pit and gallery. Even when the theatre was rebuilt, and the
bourgeoisie was permitted a place in the boxes, its place was
on the left side of the house, the right being rigorously re-
served for the Vons. This continued until 1848 ; since that
year of revolutions the public has had the place it can pay for.

1775] IVEIMAR IN THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. 171

It is quite true, the Weimar court but little corresponded
M'ith those conceptions of grandeur, magnificence, and his-
torical or political importance, with which the name of court
is usually associated. But just as in gambling the feelings
are agitated less by the greatness of the stake than by the
variations of fortune, so in the social gambling of court in-
trigue, there is the same ambition and agitation, whether the
green cloth be an empire or a duchy. Within its limits Saxe
Weimar displayed all that an imperial court displays in larger
proportions : it had its ministers, its army, its chamberlains,
pages, and sycophants. Court favor and disgrace elevated
and depressed, as if they had been imperial smiles or auto-
cratic frowns. A standing army of six hundred men, with
cavalry of fifty hussars, had its War Department, with war
minister, secretary, and clerk.*

As the nobles formed the predominating element of Wei-
mar, we see at once how, in spite of the influence of Karl
August, and the remarkable men he assembled round him,
no real public for Art could be found there. Some of the
courtiers played more or less with Art, some had real feeling
for it ; but the majority set decided faces against all the beaux
esprits. When the Duchess Amalia travelled with Merck in
1778, Weimar was loud in anticipatory grumblings: "She
will doubtless bring back some bel esprit picked up en route T'
was the common cry. And really when we have learned, as
we shall learn in a future chapter, the habits of these beaux
esprits, and their way of making life "genial," impartiality
will force us to confess that this imperfect sympathy on the*
part of the Vons was not without its reason.

Not without profound significance is this fact that in Wei-

* Lest this should appear too ridiculous, I will add that one of the
small German princes (the Graf von Limburg Styrum) kept a corps of
hussars, wbidi consisted of a colonel, six officers, and two privates I

172 THE, STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE, [book nr.

mar the poet found a Circle, but no Public. To welcome his
productions there were friends and admirers ; there was no
Nation. Germany had no public ; nor has it to this day. It
was, and is, a collection of cities, not a Nation.* To appre-
ciate by contrast the full significance of such a condition we
must look at Greece and Rome. There the history of Art
tells the same story as is everywhere told by the history of
human effbrL It tells us that to reach the height of perfec-
tion there must be the co-operation of the Nation with indi-
vidual Genius. Thus it is necessary for the development of
science that science should cease to be the speculation of a
few, and become the minister of the many ; from the con-
stant pressure of unsatisfied wantSy Science receives its ener-
getic stimulus; and its highest reward is the satisfaction
of those wants. In Art the same law holds. The whole
Athenian Nation co-operated with its artists ; and this is one
cause why Athenian Art rose into unsurpassed splendor.
Art was not the occupation of a few, ministering to the lux-
ury of a few \ it was the luxury of all. Its triumphs were
not hidden in galleries and museums ; they blazed in the
noonday sun ; they were admired and criticised by the whole
people ; and, as Aristotle expressly says, every free citizen
was from youth upwards a critic of Art. Sophocles wrote for
all Athens, and by all Athens was applauded. The theatre
was open to all free citizens. Phidias and Praxiteles, Scopas
and Myron, wrought their marvels in brass and marble, as
expressions of a national faith, for the delights of a national
"mind. Temples and market-places, public groves and public
walks, were the galleries wherein these sculptors placed their
works. The public treasury was liberal in its rewards ; and
the rivalry of private munificence was not displayed to secure
works for private galleries, but to enrich the public pos-

* The reader must remember this was written in 1854.

1775] WEIMAR IN THE EIGHTEENTH CENTUR V. 1 73

sessions. In this spirit the citizens of Cnidos chose to con-
tinue the payment of an onerous tribute rather than suffer
their statue of Venus to quit their city. And when some
murmurs rose against the expense which Pericles was incur-
ring in the building of the Parthenon, he silenced those mur-
murs by the threat of furnishing the money from his private
purse, and then placing his name on the majestic work.

Stahr, who has eloquently described the effects of such
national co-operation in Art, compares the similar influence
of publicity during the Middle Ages, when the great painters
and sculptors placed their works in cathedrals, — open all
day long, in council-houses and market-places, whither the
people thronged, — with the fact that in our day Art finds
refuge in the galleries of private persons, or in museums
closed on Sundays and holidays.*

Nor is this all The effect of Art upon the Nation is visi-
ble in the striking fact that in Greece and Rome the truly
great men were crowned by the public, not neglected for any
artist who pandered to the fashion and the tastes of the few,
or who flattered the Jlrst impressions of the many. It was
young Phidias whom the Athenians chose to carve the statue
of Pallas Athene, and to build the Parthenon. Suppose
Phidias had been an Englishman, would he have been
selected by government to give the nation a statue of Wel-
lington, or to build the Houses of Parliament ? The names
most reverenced by contemporaries, in Greece and in Italy,
are the names which posterity has declared to be the high-
est. Necessarily so. The verdict of the public, when that
public includes the whole intelligence of the nation, mus^ be
the correct verdict in Art.

We may now glance at the Court of the reigning Duke
and Duchess, — Karl August and Luise.

* See his Torso, pp. 147- 151.

174 '^^^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. \BOOVi iv.

Of the Duchess Luise no one ever speaks but in terms of
veneration. She was one of those rare beings who, through
circumstances the most trying, as well as through the ordinary
details of life, manifest a noble character. The Queen of
Prussia and the Duchess of Saxe-Weimar are two of the
great figures in modern German history ; they both opposed
the chief man of the age, Napoleon, and were both admired
by him for that very opposition. Luise was of a cold tem-
perament, somewhat rigid in her enforcement of etiquette,
and wore to the last the old costume which had been the
fashion in her youth ; apt in the early years of her marriage
to be a little querulous with her husband, but showing
throughout their lives a real and noble friendship for him.

And he was worthy of that friendship, much as his strange
and in many respects opposite nature may have tried her.
Karl August, whom Frederick the Great pronounced, at
fourteen, to be the prince, of all he had seen, who gave
the greatest promise, was in truth a very mixed, but very
admirable, character. He can afford to be looked at more
closely and familiarly than most princes. He was a man
whose keen appreciation of genius not only drew the most
notable men of the day to Weimar, but whose own intrinsi-
cally fine qualities kept them there. It is easy for a prince to
assemble men of talent It is not easy for a prince to make
them remain beside him, in the full employment of their facul-
ties, and in reasonable enjoyment of their position. Karl
August was the prince who with the smallest means produced
the greatest result in Germany. He was a man of restless
activity. His eye was on every part of his dominions ; his
endeavors to improve the condition of the people were con-
stant. The recently published correspondence shows how
active were his intellectual sympathies. In his tastes no man
in Germany was so simple, except his dearest friend, Goethe,

I775-1 ^VEIMAR IN THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. 175

with whom, indeed, he had many cardinal points in common.
I remember, on first seeing their busts together, being struck
with a sort of faint family resemblance between them. Karl
August might have been a younger brother, considerably "ani-
alized," but still belonging to the family. They had both, on
the paternal side, Thuringian blood in their veins ; and in
many respects Amalia and Frau Aja were akin. But while
Karl August had the active, healthy, sensuous, pleasure-
loving temperament of his friend, he wanted the tact which
never allowed Goethe, except in his wildest period, to over-
step limits ; he wanted the tenderness and chivalry which
made the poet so uniformly acceptable to women. He •was
witty, but his bonmots are mostly of that kind which, repeated
after dinner, are not considered fit for drawing-room publica-
tion. Very characteristic is it of him, who had bestowed un-
usual pains incollecting a Bibliotheca Erotica^ that when Schil-
ler wrote the Maid of Orleans he fancied Schiller was going to
give another version of La Fuceile, and abetted his mistress,
the Frau von Heygendorf, in her refusal to play the part of
the rehabilitated Maiden 1 He was rough, soldierly, brusque,
and imperious. He was at home when in garrison with
Prussian soldiers, but out of his element when at foreign
Courts, and not always at ease in his own. Goethe describes
him longing for his pipe at the Court of Brunswick in 1774 :
** De son cotd notre bon Due s'ennuie terriblement, il
cherche un interet, il n'y voudrait pas etre pour rien, la
marche trbs bien mesuree de tout ce qu'on fait ici le gene, il
faut qu'il renonce a sa chere pipe, et une fee ne pourroit lui
rendre un service plus agreable qu*en changeant ce palais
dans une cabane de charbonnier." *

In a letter (unprinted) he writes to Goethe, then at Jena,

* Briefs an Frau von Stein, III. p. 8$. The French is Goethe's as
also the spelling and accentuation, or rather want of accentuation.

176 THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE, [book iv.

saying he longs to be with him to watch sunrise and sunset,
for he can't see the sunset in Gotha, hidden as it is by the
crowd of courtiers, who are so comme il fauty and know their
" fish duty " with such terrible accuracy, that every evening
he feels inclined to give himself to the devil. His delight,
when not with soldiers, was to be with dogs, or with his poet
alone in their simple houses, discussing philosophy, and
" talking of lovely things that conquer death." He mingled
freely with the people. At Ilmenau he and Goethe put on
the miners' dress, descended into the mines, and danced all
night with peasant-girls. Riding across country, over rock
and^tream, in manifest peril of his neck ; teasing the maids
of honor, sometimes carrying this so far as to offend his more
princely wife ; wandering alone with his dogs, or with some
joyous companion ; seeking excitement in wine, and in mak-
ing love to pretty women, without much respect of station ; of-
fending by his roughness and wilfulness, though never estrang-
ing his friends, — Karl August, often grieving his admirers,
was, with all his errors, a genuine and admirable character.
His intellect was active ; his judgment, both of men and
things, sound and keen. Once, when there was a discussion
about appointing Fichte as professor at Jena, one of the op-
ponents placed a work of Fichte's in the Duke's hands, as
sufficient proof that such a teacher could not hold a chair.
Karl August read the book, — and appointed Fichte. He
had great aims ; he also had the despotic will which bends
circumstances to its determined issues. " He was always in
progress," said Goethe to Eckermann ; " when anything failed,
he dismissed it at once from his mind. I often bothered my-
self how to excuse this or that failure ; but he ignored every
shortcoming in the cheerfullest way, and always went for-
ward to something new."

Such was Karl August, as I conceive him from the letters

1775] WEIMAR IN- THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. ijj

of the period, and from the reports of those who knew him.
Eight years younger than Goethe, he attached himself to him
as to a brother. We shall see this attachment and its recip-
rocal influence in the following pages; clouds sometimes
gather, quarrels and dissatisfaction are not absent, (from what
long friendship are they absent?) but fifty years of mutual
service and mutual love proved the genuineness of both their
characters.

Herder did not come to Weimar till after Goethe, and in-
deed was drawn thither by Goethe, whose admiration for him,
begun at Strasburg, continued unabated. The strange bitter-
ness and love of sarcasm in Herder's nature, which could not
repel the young student, did not alter the affection of the
man. In one of Goethe's unpublished letters to the Duch-
ess Amalia, there is an urgent appeal on behalf of Herder,
whose large family had to be supported on very straitened
means ; the Duke had promised to provide for one of the -
children, and Goethe writes to Amalia, begging her to do the
same for another. No answer coming to this appeal, or at
any rate no prompt notice being taken, he writes again more
urgently, adding, that if she does not provide for the child,
he (Goethe), out of his small income, will ! And this was at
a time when Herder was most bitter against Goethe. Well
might Merck exclaim, ** No one can withstand the disinter-
estedness of this man ! "

CHAPTER II.

THE FIRST WILD WEEKS AT WEIMAR.

This was the Weimar which Goethe entered in all the
splendor of youth, beauty, and fame, — Youth, which, accord-
8« L

178 ^^^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book iv.

iiig to the fine conception of the Greeks, is " the herald of
Venus* ; Beauty, which those Greeks adored as the splendor
of Truth ; and Fame, which has at all times been a halo daz-
zting to mortal eyes. Thus equipped for conquest, how can
we wonder that he conquered ? Even the Duchess Amalia,
angry with him for having ridiculed her darling Wieland,
could not withstand the magic of his presence. Her love of
genius left her no choice. She was fascinated by his wild
ways, and by his splendid talents. One moment he startled
her with a paradox, the next moment he sprang from his seat,
waltzing and whirling round the room with antics which made
her scream with laughter. And Wieland .> — he was con-
quered at once. He shall speak for himself, in a letter writ-
ten after their first interview : — " How perfectly I felt, at the
first glance, he was a man after my own heart ! How I loved
the magnificent youth as I sat beside him at table 1 All that
I can say (after more than one crisis which I have endured)
is this : since that morning my soul is as full of Gk>ethe as a

dew-drop of the morning sun I believe the godlike

creature will remain longer with us than he intended ; and if
Weimar can do anything, his presence will accomplish it"
This is very honorable to Wieland : Nestor gazes with unen-
vious delight upon the young Achilles. Heroic eyes are al-
ways proud to recognize heroic proportions.

After Wieland and the Duchess, the rest were easy to con-
quer. " He rose like a star in the heavens," says Knebel.
" Everybody worshipped him, especially the women." In the
costume of his own Werther, which was instantly adopted by
the Duke, he seemed the ideal of a poet. To moderns there
are no very sentimental suggestions in a costume which was
composed of blue coat and brass buttons, top-boots, and
leather breeches, the whole surmounted by powder and pig-
tail ; but in those days this costume was the suggestion of

X775-1 THE FIRST WILD WEEKS AT WEIMAR.

179

eveiything tender and romantic. Werther had consecrated it*
The Duke not only adopted it, but made all around him adopt
it also, sometimes paying the tailor's bill himself. Wieland
alone was excepted ; he was too old for such masqueradings.
Thoroughly to appreciate the effect of Goethe's- influence
with women, we must remember the state of feeling and opin-
ion at the time. Those were the days of gallantry, the days

of

" Puffs, paints, and patches, powders, billets doux."

The laxity of German morals differed from the more auda-
cious licentiousness of France : it had sentimentalism, in lieu
of gayety and luxuriousness, for its basis. The heart of a
French marquise was lost over a supper-table sparkling with
champagne and bonmots ; the heart of a German Grafin yielded
more readily to moonlight, melancholy, and a copy of verses.
Wit and audacity were the batteries for a Frenchwoman ;
the German was stormed with sonnets, and a threat of sui-
cide. For the one, Lothario needed sprightliness and hon
ton; for the other, turbulent disgust at all social arrangements,
expressed in interjectional rhetoric, and a deportment outra-
geous to all conventions. It is needless to add that marriage
was to a great extent what Sophie Arnould with terrible wit
called it, — "the sacrament of adultery"; and that on the
subject of the sexes the whole tone of feeling was low. Poor,
simple, earnest Schiller, whom no one will accuse of laxity,
admired Les Liaisons Dangereuses^ and saw no reason why
women should not read it; although to our age the infamy of
that book is so great as to stamp a brand upon the society
which produced and applauded it. Yet even Schiller, who
admired this book, was astounded at the condition of women

* It should be remembered, that in Germany, at that time, boots were
only worn in very bad weather ; and in the presence of women no one
ever appeared, except in shoes and silk stockings.

l8o I^HE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE, [book ivl

at Weimar. " There is hardly one of them," he writes to
Korner, " who has not had a liaison. They are all coquettes.
.... One may very easily fall into an * affair of the heart,'
though it will not last any time." It was thought, apparently,
that since Eros had wings, he must use them — and fly.

With this tone of society we can understand how, as Goethe
in after-life confessed to Eckermann, the first years at Weimar
were perplexed with love-affairs. A great admirer of women,
and greatly admired by them, it was natural he should fall
into their snares. Many charmers are named ; among them,
Fraulein von Kalb, Coroner Schroter, and Kotzebue's sister,
Amelia : but I am bound to say, that, after the most diligent
inquiry, I can find no reliable evidence for believing any one
of those named to have been really loved by him. We must
content ourselves with the fact of his having flirted consider-
ably : making love to every bright pair of eyes which for a
moment could make him believe what he said.

For the first few months he gave himself up to the excite-
ment of this new life. Among other things he introduced
skating. Weimar had hitherto seen no gentleman on the ice ;
but now, Kiopstock having made skating famous by his poetry,
Goethe made it fashionable by his daring grace. The Duchess
soon excelled in the art. Skating on the Schwansee became
"the rage." Sometimes the banks were illuminated with
lamps and torches, and music and fire-works animated the
scene. The Duchess and ladies, masked as during carnival,
were driven in sledges over the noisy ice. " We are somewhat
mad here," Goethe writes to Merck, " and play the devil's
own game." Wieland's favorite epithet for him was wUihig^ —
outrageous ; and wuihig he was. Strange stories are told of
him, now dashing across the ice, now loosening his long hair
in Bertuch's room, and, with locks flowing over his shoulders,
whirling round in mad Bacchante waltz ; and finally, standing

1775] THE FIRST WILD WEEKS AT WEIMAR. jgi

m the Jena market-place with the Duke, by the hour together,
smacking huge sledge-whips for a wager. Imagine a Duke
and a Poet thus engaged in a public market-place !

His constant companion, and in all deviltries and dissipa-
tion his most jovial associate, was Karl August. All ceremony
was laid aside between them. They dined together, often
shared the same bedroom, and called each other by the broth-
erly thou, " Goethe will never leave this place again," writes
Wieland ; " K. A. can no longer swim or wade without him.
The court, or rather his liaison with the Duke, wastes his
time, which is really a great pity ; and yet, with so magnifi-
cent and godlike a creature nothing is ever lost!" Wei-
mar was startled in its more respectable circles by the conduct
of these two, and their associates : conduct quite in keeping
with the period named " the genicU,^^ * In their orgies they
drank wine out of skulls (as B3rron and his friends did in their
wild days), and in ordinary intercourse exhibited but a very
mitigated respect for meum and tuumy borrowing handkerchiefs
and waistcoats which were never returned. The favorite
epithet of that day was " infinite " : Genius drank infinitely,
loved infinitely, and swallowed infinite sausages.

But the poef s nature soon wearies of such scenes. After
some two months of dissipation in masking, skating, hunting,
drinking, and dicing, the want to be once more among simple
people and lovely scenes drove him away from Weimar to
Waldeck. Amid the crowded tumult of life he ever kept his
soul sequestered ; and from the hot air of society he broke
impatiently away to the serenity of solitude. While on this
journey along the pine-clad mountains, there came over him
a feeling of the past, in which the image of Lili painfully reap-
peared.

* It is difficult to find an English word to express the German genial^
which means pertaining to genius. The genial period was the period
when every extravagance was excused on the plea of genius.

l82 3W^ STORY OF GOETHJPS LIFE. [book Vh

He was called back to Weimar by the Duke, impatient of
his absence ; and, while debating in his own mind whether
he should accept a place there, or return to Frankfurt, he be-
gan to take his seat^ as a guest, in the Privy Council. He
had tried the Court, and now he was about to try what virtue
lay in government. " I am here as if at home," so runs one
of his letters, ** and the Duke daily becomes dearer to me.'*
Indeed his father's prognostications had failed. The con-
nection between his son and the Duke was of a totally
different kind from that between Voltaire and Frederick. In
secret Voltaire despised the verses of his patron, and his
patron in secret despised the weakness of Voltaire. A few
unguarded expressions were enough to snap the link which
bound them together; but a lifetime only deepened the
friendship of Goethe and Karl August Nor must it be sup-
posed that their friendship was merely that of boon com-
panions. Both had high aims and strong wills. Prince
Hal might recreate himself with Falstaff, Pistol, Bardolph,
and the rest; but, while chucking Mrs. Quickly under the
chin, he knew he was one day to be England's lord. Karl
August and Goethe were not the men to lose themselves in
the fleeting hours of dissipation ; serious, steady business was
transacted almost the moment before some escapade. In
their retreat at Ilmenau the poet writes : " My Karl and I
here forget the strange mysterious Fate which guides us ;
and I feel that in these quiet moments we are preparing for
new scenes." Yes, they learned " in the happy present to
forecast the future."

The Duke knew what he was doing when he overstepped
all precedent, and, in June, 1776, elected Goethe to the post
of Geheime Legations Rath, with a seat and voice in the
Privy Council, and a salary of twelve hundred thalers. In
writing to Goethe's father, the Duke intimated that there was

1775-1 THE FIRST WILD WEEKS AT WEIMAR, 183

absolute freedom of leaving the service at will, and that in-
deed the appointment was a mere formality, no measure of
his affection. " Goethe can have but one position, — that of
my friend. All others are beneath him."

The post of Geheime Legations Rath at Weimar is not a
very magnificent post ; and the salary of twelve hundred
thalers (about two hundred pounds) seems still less magnifi-
cent when we remember that at that period the King of
Prussia gave the Barberini, an Italian dancer, exact-
ly ten times the sum. But, such as it was, the appointment
created great noise. Weimar was aghast. The favor shown
to Wieland had not passed without scandal ; but alarming
indeed was this elevation of a Frankfurt bourgeois. A poet,
who had gone through none of the routine of business, whose
life was anything but "respectable," to be lifted suddenly
over the plodding heads of legitimate aspirants ! If this was
to be, what reward could meritorious mediocrity expect?
what advantage had slowly acquired routiniary knowledge ?

So murmured scandalized officials and their friends. At
last these murmurs expressed themselves distinctly in the
shape of a protest The Duke thought the act worthy of a
deliberate justification, and with his own hand added these
words to the protocol of the acts of his ministry: "Enlight-
ened persons congratulate me on possessing such a man.
His genius and capacity are well known. To employ a man
of such a stamp in any other functions than those in which
he can render available the extraordinary gifts he possesses,
is to abuse them. As to the observation that persons of
merit may think themselves unjustly passed over : I observe,
in the first place, that nobody, to my knowledge, in my service
has a right to reckon on an equal degree of favor ; and I
add that I will never consent to be governed by mere length
of service or rotation in my choice of a person whose func-

1 84 '^^^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book iv.

tions place him in such immediate relation to myself, and are
so important to the happiness of my people^ In such a case
I shall attend to nothing but the degree of confidence I can
repose in the person of my choice. The public opinion
which perhaps censures the admission of Dr. Goethe to my
council without having passed through the previous steps of
Amtmann, Professor, Kammerrath, or Regierungsrath, pro-
duces no effect on my own judgment The world forms its
opinion on prejudices; but I watch and work, — as every
man must who wishes to do his duty, — not to make a noise,
not to attract the applause of the world, but to justify my
conduct to God and my conscience.**

Assuredly we may echo M. Dumont*s sentiment, that " the
prince, who, at nineteen, wrote those words, was no ordinary
man." He had not only the eye to see greatness, he had also
the strong Will to guide his conduct according to his views,
untrammelled by routine and formulas. " Say what you will,
it is only like can recognize like, and a prince of great ca-
pacity will always recognize and cherish greatness in his ser-
vants." * People saw that the Duke was resolved. Murmurs
were silenced ; or only percolated the gossip of private cir-
cles, till other subjects buried them, as all gossip is buried.

The mode of life which the genial company led was not
only the subject of gossip in Weimar, it grew and grew as
scandals grow, not losing substance on the way, till it reached
the ears of distant friends. Thus, only a month before the
appointment, Klopstock wrote to Goethe a letter "which
scandal extorted from friendship " : —

" Hamburg, 8th of May, 1776.
" Here is a proof of my friendship, dearest Goethe ! It is
somewhat difficult, I confess, to give it, but it must be given.

* Goethe in Eckermann^ III. p. 232.

n

1775.] THE FIRST WILD WEEKS AT WEIMAR, 185

Do not fancy that I wish to preach to you about your doings,
or that I judge harshly of you because you have other views
than mine. But, your views and mine quite set aside, what
will be the inevitable consequence if your present doings
continue ? The Duke, if he continues to drink as he does,
instead of strengthening, as he says, his constitution, will
ruin it, and will not live long. Young men of powerful con-
stitutions — and that the Duke is not — have in this way
early perished. The Germans have hitherto, and with jus-
tice, complained that their princes would have nothing to do
with authors. They now gladly make an exception in favor
of the Duke. But what a justification will not the other
princes have, if you continue your present tone ? If only
that should happen which I feel will happen ! The Duchess
will perhaps still subdue her pain, for she has a strong manly
intellect But that pain will become grief! And can that be
so suppressed ? Louisa's grief, Goethe !....! must add a
word about Stolberg. He goes to Weimar out of friendship
for the Duke. He must also live well with him. But how ?
In his style ? No ! unless he, too, becomes altered, he will
go away. And then what remains for him ? Not in Copen-
hagen, not in Weimar. I must write to Stolberg ; what shall
I say to him ? You may please yourself about showing this
letter to the Duke. I have no objection against it. On the
contrary ; for he is assuredly not yet arrived at that point
when he will not listen to the honest word of a friend.

'" Klopstock."

Goethe's answer, dated the 21st of May, a fortnight later,
therefore, runs thus: —

" In future, spare us such letters, dear Klopstock ! They
do no good, and only breed bad blood. You must feel your-
self that I have no answer to make. Either I must, like a

1 8$ THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book iv.

school-boy, begin a Pater peccavi^ or sophistically excuse, or
as an honest fellow defend, and perhaps a mingling of all
these might express the truth, but to what purpose ? There-
fore not a word more between us on this subject. Believe
me, I should not have a moment's rest if I replied to all such
admonitions. It pained the Duke a moment to think it was
Klopstock. He loves and honors you : you know I do the
same. Good by. Stolberg must come all the same. We
are no worse ; and with God's help will be better than what
he has seen us."

To this Klopstock indignantly replied : —

" You have much misunderstood the proof of my friend-
ship, which was great precisely because of my reluctance to
mix myself unasked in the affairs of others. And as you
include all such letters and all such admonitions (your ex-
pressions are as strong as that) in the same class with the
letter which contained this proof of my friendship, I hereby
* declare you unworthy of that friendship. Stolberg shall not
come, if he listens to me, or rather if he listens to his own
conscience."

The breach thus made was never repaired. Stolberg did
not come to Weimar, and Klopstock wrote no more.

To return : whatever basis there may have been for the
reports which Gossip magnified, certain it is that the Duke
did not forget the cares of State in these wild orgies. Both
he and his friend were very active, and very serious. If
Weimar, according to the historian of Germany,* stands as
an illustrious exception among the German Courts, it was
because Karl August, upheld by his friend, knew how to
carry into earnest practice the axiom of Frederick the Great :
"A king is but the first of subjects." Goethe's beneficent
activity is seen less in such anecdotes as those often cited

* Menzel, ccxli.

1775^1 THE FIRST WILD WEEKS AT WEIMAR, 187

of his .opening a subscription for Burger to enable him to
complete his translation of Homer, and of his relieving Jung
Stilling from distress, than in the constant and democratic
sympathy with which he directed the Duke's endeavors.

It is worth bearing in mind what the young Goethe was,
that we may the better understand the reason of what he
became. No sooner had he commenced his career as poli-
tician, than he began to tone down the extravagance of his
demeanor ; without foregoing any enjoyments, he tried to
accord more with those in whom a staid demeanor was ne-
cessitated by their more flagging pulses of lethargic life.
One month after his appointment Wieland writes of him :
" Goethe did in truth, during the first months of his visit
here, scandalize most people (never me) ; but from the
moment that he decided on becoming a man of business,
he has conducted himself with blameless crtt^pocn^ and all
worldly prudence." Elsewhere he says : " Goethe, with all
his real and apparent sauvagerie, has, in his little finger, more
conduite and savoir /aire than all the court parasites, Boniface
sneaks, and political cobweb-spinners have in their whole
bodies and souls. So long as Karl August lives, no power
can remove him."

As we familiarize ourselves with the details of this episode,
there appears less and less plausibility in the often-iterated
declamation against Goethe on the charge of his having
"sacrified his genius to the court" It becomes indeed a
singularly foolish display of rhetoric. Let us for a moment
consider the charge. He had to choose a career. That of
poet was then, as it is still, terribly delusive; verse could
create fame, but no* money : fama and fames were then, as
now, in dangerous contiguity. No sooner is the necessity
for a career admitted than much objection falls to the ground ;
for those who reproach him with having wasted his time on

lS8 THE STORY OF GOETHE^S LIFE, [book vr.

court festivities, and the duties of government which others
could have done as well, must ask whether he would have
saved that time had he followed the career of jurisprudence
and jostled lawyers through the courts at Frankfurt? or
would they prefer seeing him reduced to the condition of
poor Schiller, wasting so much of his precious life in hterary
'^ hackwork/' translating French books for a miserable pit-
tance? Time^ in any case, would have been claimed; in
return for that given to Karl August, he received, as he
confesses in the poem addressed to the Duke, "what the
great seldom bestow, — affection, leisure, confidence, garden,
and house. No one have I to thank but him; and much
have I wanted, who, as a poet, ill understood the arts of
gain. If Europe praised me, what has Europe done for
me ? Nothing. Even my works have been an expense
to me."

In 1801, writing to his mother on the complaints uttered
against him by those who judged falsely of his condition,
he says they only saw what he gave up, not what he gained ;
they could not comprehend how he grew daily richer,
though he daily gave up so much. He confesses that the
narrow circle of a burgher life would have ill-accorded with
his ardent and wide-sweeping spirit. Had he remained at
Frankfurt, he would have been ignorant of the world. But
here the panorama of life was unrolled before him, and his
experience was every way enlarged. Did not Leonardo da
Vinci spend much of his time charming the court of Milan
with his poetry and lute-playing? Did he not also spend
time in mechanical and hydrostatical labors for the State ?
No reproach is lifted against his august name ; no one cries
out against his being false to his genius ; no one rebukes
him for having painted so little at one period. The " Last
Supper" speaks for him. Will not Tasso^ Iphigenia^ Her-

1775] THE FIRST WILD WEEKS AT WEIMAR, 189

mann und Dorothea^ Faust, Meister, and the long list of
Goethe's works, speak for himi

I have dwelt mainly on the dissipation of his time, be-
cause the notion that a court life afifected his genius by
** corrupting his mind " is preposterous. No reader of this
biography, it is to be hoped, will fail to see the true relations
in which he stood to the Duke ; how free they were from
anything like servility, or suppression of genuine impulse.
Indeed, one of the complaints against him, according to
the unexceptionable authority of Riemer, was that made by
the subalterns, " of his not being sufficiently attentive to
court etiquette." To say, as Niebuhr says, that the " court
was a Delilah to which he sacrificed his locks," is profoundly
to misunderstand his genius, profoundly to misread his life.
Had his genius been of that stormy kind which produces
great Reformers and great Martyrs, — had it been his mis-
sion to agitate mankind by words, reverberating to their in-
most recesses, and calling them to lay down their lives in
the service of an Idea, — had it been his tendency to medi-
tate upon our far-off destinies, or to sway men by the coercion
of grand representative abstractions, — then, indeed, we might
say his place was aloof from the motley throng, and not in
sailing down the swiftly flowing stream to sounds of mirth
and music on the banks. But he was not a Reformer,
not a Martyr. He was a Poet, whose religion was Beauty,
whose worship was of Nature, whose aim was Culture. His
mission was to paint Life, and for that it was requisite he
should see it. Happier circumstances might, indeed, have
surrounded him, and given him a greater sphere. It would
have been very different, as he often felt, if there had been
a Nation to appeal to, instead of a heterogeneous mass of
small peoples, willing enough to talk of Fatherland, but in
no wise prepared to become a Nation, They are many other

igO THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book iv.

ifs in which much virtue could be found ; but inasmuch as
he could not create circumstances, we must follow his ex-
ample, and be content with what the gods provided. I do
not, I confess, see what other sphere was open to him in
which his genius could have been more sacred ; but I do
see that he built out of circumstances a noble Temple in
which the altar-flame burnt with a steady light To hypo-
thetical biographers be left the task of settling what Goethe
might have been; enough for us to catch some glimpse of
what he was.

" Poetry," says Carlyle, " is the attempt which man makes
to render his existence harmonious." It is the flower into
which a life expands ; but it is not the life itself, with all
daily needs, daily struggles, daily prosaisms. The true poet
manfully accepts the condition in which destiny has placed
him, and therein tries to make his existence harmonious;
the sham poet, like a weak workman, fretful over his tools,
is loud in his assurances of what he might be, were it his lot
to live in other circumstances. Goethe was led by the cur-
rent of events to a little court, where he was arrested by
friendship, love, leisure, and opportunities of a freer, nobler
life than Frankfurt Law Courts offered him. After much
deliberation he chose his career : these pages will show how
in it he contrived to be true to his genius.

It is scarcely worth while to notice trash about his servility
and court slavery. He was not required to be servile ; and
his nature was as proud as any prince's. " They call me a
prince's servant," he said to Eckermann, "and a prince's
slave ; as if there were any meaning in such words 1 Whom
do I serve? A tyrant — a despot? Do I serve one who
lives for his own pleasures at the people's cost ? Such
princes and such times are, thank God ! far enough from us.
For more than half a century I have been connected in the

1775-1 ^^^ FmST WILD WEEKS AT WEIMAR. 191

closest relations with the Grand Duke, and for half a century
have striven and toiled with him ; but I should not be speak-
ing truth were I to say that I could name a single day on
which the Duke had not his thoughts busied with something
to be devised and effected for the good of the country :
something calculated to better the condition of each indi-
vidual in it As for himself, personally, what has his princely
state given him but a burden and a task ? Is his dwelling,
or his dress, or his table, more sumptuously provided than
that of any private man in easy circumstances? Go into
our maritime cities, and you will find the larder and cellar
of every considerable merchant better filled than his. If,
then, I am a prince's slave, it is at least my consolation that
I am but the slave of one who is himself a slave of the
general good."

And to close this subject, read the following passage from
Merck's letter to Nicolai (the Merck who is said by Falk to
have spoken so bitterly of the waste of Goethe's life at Wie-
mar) : " I have lately paid Goethe a visit at the Wartburg,
and we have lived together for ten days like children. I am
delighted to have seen with my own eyes what his situation
is. The Duke is the best of all, and has a character firm as

iron : / would do ^ for lave of him^just what Goethe does

I tell you sincerely, that the Duke is most worthy of respect,
and one of the cleverest men that I have ever seen ; and
consider that he is a prince, and only twenty years of age ! "
The long and friendly correspondence Merck kept up with
the Duke is the best pledge that the foregoing estimate was
sincere.

1^2 THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book iv.

CHAPTER IIL

THE FRAU VON STEIN.

From out the many flirtations that amused him, there rises
one which grew into predominant importance, swallowing up
all the others, and leaping from lambent flame into eager and
passionate fire. It was no transitory flash, but a fire which
burnt for ten years; and thereby is distinguished from all
previous attachments. It is a silver thread woven among the
many-colored threads which formed the tapestry of his life.
I will here detach it, to consider it by itself.

The Baroness von Stein, " Hofdame," and wife of the
Master of the Horse, was, both by family and position, a
considerable person. To us she is interesting as having
sprung from a Scotch family, named Irving, and as being the
sister-in-law to that Baron ImhofF who sold his first wife to
Warren Hastings. She was the mother of seven children,
and had reached that age which, in fascinating women, is of
perilous fascination, — the age of three-and-thirty. We can
understand something of her power if we look at her por-
trait, and imagine those delicate, coquettish features animated
with the lures of sensibility, gayety, and experience of the
world. She sang well, played well, sketched well, talked
well, appreciated poetry, and handled sentiment with the deli-
cate tact of a woman of the world. Her pretty fingers had
turned over many a serious book; and she knew how to
gather honey from weeds. With moral deficiencies, which
this history will betray, she was to all acquaintances a per-
fectly charming woman ; and retained her charm even in old
age, as many living witnesses testify. Some years after her

1775] THE FRAU VON STEIN, 193

first acquaintance with Goethe, Schiller thus writes of her to
his friend Korner : " She is really a genuine, interesting per-
son, and I quite understand what has attached Goethe to
her. Beautiful she can never have been ; but her countenance
has a soft earnestness, and a quite peculiar openness. A
healthy understanding, truth, and feeling lie in her nature.
She has more than a thousand letters from Goethe; and
from Italy he writes to her every week. They say the con-
nection is perfectly pure and blameless."

It was at Pyrmont that Goethe first saw the Frau von
Stein's portrait, and was three nights sleepless in consequence
of Zimmermann*s description of her. In sending her that
flattering detail, Zimmermann added, " He will assuredly come
to Weimar to see you." Under her portrait Goethe wrote,
" What a glorious poem it would be to see how the world
mirrors itself in this soul ! She sees the world as it is, and
yet withal sees it through the medium of love ; hence sweet-
ness is the dominant expression." In her reply to Zimmer-
mann she begs to hear more about Goethe, and intimates her
desire to see him. This calls forth a reply that she " has no
idea of the danger of his magical presence." Such dangers
pretty women gladly run into, especially when, like Charlotte
von Stein, they are perfect mistresses of themselves.

With his heart still trembling from the agitations of victory
over its desires, after he had torn himself away from Lili, he
saw this charming woman. The earth continues warm long
after the sun has glided below the horizon; and the heart
continues warm some time after the departure of its sun.
Goethe was therefore prepared to fall desperately in love with
one who " viewed all things through the medium of love."
And there is considerable interest in noting the kind of idol
now selected. Hitherto he has been captivated only by very
young girls, whose youth, beauty, and girlishness were the

9 M

IQ^. THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book vt

charms to his wandering fancy ; but now he is fascinated by
a woman^ a woman of rank and elegance, a woman of culture
and experience, a woman who, instead of abandoning herself
to the charm of his affection, knew how, without descending
from her pedestal, to keep the flame alive. The others loved
him, — showed him their love, — and were forgotten. She con-
trived to keep him in the pleasant fever of hope ; made her-
self necessary to him ; made her love an aim, and kept him
in the excitement of one

" Who never is, but always to be blest"

Considering the state of society and opinion at that period,
and considering moreover that, according to her son's narra-
tive, her husband was scarcely seen in his own home more
than once a week, and that no pretence of affection existed
between them, we can understand how Goethe's notorious
passion for her excited sympathy in Weimar. Not a word
of blame escaped any one on this subject. They saw a
lover whose mistress gave him just enough encouragement
to keep him eager in pursuit, and who knew how to check
him when that eagerness would press on too far. In his
early letters to her there are sudden outbreaks and reserves ;
sometimes the affectionate thou escapes, and the next day,
perhaps even in the next sentence, the prescribed you returns.
The letters follow almost daily.

In a little while the tone grows more subdued. Just as
the tone of his behavior in Weimar, after the first wild weeks,
became softened to a lower key, so in these letters we see,
after a while, fewer passionate outbreaks, fewer interjections,
and no more ihous. But love warms them still. The letters
are incessant, and show an incessant preoccupation. Certain
sentimental readers will be shocked, perhaps, to find so many
details about eating and drinking ; but when they remember

1776.] THE FRAU VON STEIN

195

Charlotte cutting bread and butter, they may understand the
author of Werther eloquently begging his beloved to send
him a sausage.

The visitor may still read the inscription, at once homage
and souvenir, by which Goethe connected the happy hours
of love with the happy hours of active solitude passed in his
Garden House in the Park. Fitly is the place dedicated to
the Frau von Stein. The whole spot speaks of her. Here
are the flower-beds from which almost every morning flowers,
with the dew still on them, accompanied letters, not less
fresh and beautiful, to greet the beloved. Here are the beds
from which came the asparagus he was so proud to send her.
Here is the orchard in which grew the fruit he so often sent.
Here is the room in which he dreamt of her ; here the room
in which he worked, while her image hovered round him.
The house stands within twenty minutes' walk from the house
where she lived, separated from it by clusters of noble trees.

If the reader turns back to the description of the Park, he
will ascertain the position of this Gartenhaus. Originally it
belonged to Bertuch. One day when the Duke was ear-
nestly pressing Goethe to take up his residence at Weimar,
the poet (who then lived in the Jagerhaus in the Belvidere
AUde), undecided as to whether he should go or remain, let
fall, among other excuses, the want of a quiet bit of land,
where his taste for gardening could be indulged. " Bertuch,
for example, is very comfortable ; if I had but such a piece
of ground as that ! " Hereupon the Duke, very characteris-
tically, goes to Bertuch, and without periphrasis, says, " I
must have your garden.*' Bertuch starts : " But, your High-
ness — " " But me no buts,'* replies the young prince ; " I
can't help you. Goethe wants it, and unless we give it to
him we shall never keep him here; it is the only way to
secure him." This reason would probably not have been so

igg THE STORY OF GOETHES LIFE, [book iv.

cogent with Bertuch, had not the Duke excused the despot-
ism of his act by giving in exchange more than the value of
the garden. It was at first only lent to Goethe ; but in 1780
it was made a formal gift.

It is charmingly situated, and, although of modest preten-
sions, is one of the most enviable houses in Weimar. The
II m runs through the meadoWs which front it. The town,
although so near, is completely shut out from view by the
thick-growing trees. The solitude is absolute, broken only
by the occasional sound of the church clock, the music from
the barracks, and the screaming of the peacocks spreading
their superb beauty in the park. So fond was Goethe of
this house, that winter and summer he lived there for seven
years ; and when, in 1782, the Duke made him a present of
the house in the Fraumplan^ he could not prevail upon him-
self to sell the Gartenhaus, but continued to make it a favor-
ite retreat. Often when he chose to be alone and undis-
turbed, he locked all the gates of the bridges which led from
the town to his house, so that, as Wieland complained,
no one could get at him except by aid of picklock and
crow-bar.

It was here, in this little garden, he studied the develop-
ment of plants, and made many of those experiments and
observations which had given him a high rank among the
discoverers in Science. It was here the poet escaped from
court. It was here the lover was happy in his love. How
modest this Garden House really is ; how far removed from
anything like one's preconceptions of it ! It is true, that the
position is one which many a rich townsman in England
would be glad of, as the site for a handsome villa : a pretty
orchard and garden on a gentle slope ; in front, a good car-
riage road, running beside a fine meadow, encircled by the
stately trees of tlie park. But the house a half-pay captain

1776] THE FRAU VON STEIN. 197

with us would consider a miserable cottage ; yet it sufficed
for the court favorite and minister. Here the Duke was con-
stantly with him ; sitting up, till deep in the night, in earnest
discussion ; often sleeping on the sofa instead of going home.
Here both Duke and Duchess would come and dine with
him, in the most simple, unpretending way ; the whole ban-
quet in one instance consisting, as we learn from a casual
phrase in the Stein correspondence, of " a beer soup and a
little cold meat" *

There is something very pleasant in noticing these traits
of the simplicity which was then practised. The Duke's own
hut — the Borkenhaus — has already been described (page
162). The hut, for it was nothing else, in which Goethe
lived in the Ilmenau Mountains, and the more than
bourgeois simplicity of the Garden House, make us aware of
one thing among others, namely, that if he sacrificed his
genius to a court, it assuredly was not for loaves and fishes,
not for luxury and material splendor of any kind. Indeed,
such things had no temptation to a man of his simple tastes.
" Rich in money," he writes to his beloved, " I shall never
become ; but, therefore, all the richer in Confidence, Good
Name, and influence over the minds of men."

It was his love of Nature which made him so indifferent
to luxury. That love gave him simplicity and hardihood. In
many things he was unlike his nation : notably in his volun-
tary exposure to two bright, wholesome things, which to his
contemporaries were little less than bugbears, — I mean fresh
air and cold water. The nation which consented to live in
the atmosphere of iron stoves, tobacco, and bad breath, and
which deemed a pint of water all that man could desire for
his ablutions, must have been greatly perplexed at seeing

* Compare also the Briefwechsel vwischen Karl August und Goethe^
L27.

igg THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE, [book iv.

Goethe indulge in fresh air and cold water as enjoyingly as
if they were vices.

Two anecdotes will bring this contrast into relief. So
great was the German reluctance to even a necessary expos-
ure to the inclemencies of open-air exercise, that historians
inform us " a great proportion, especially among the learned
classes, employed a miserable substitute for exercise in the
shape of a machine, by means of which they comfortably took
their dose of movement without leaving their rooms."* And
Jacobs, in his Personaiien, records a fact which, while explain-
ing how the above-named absurdity could have gained ground,
paints a sad picture of the life of German youth in those
days. Describing his boyish days at Gotha, he says : " Our
winter pleasures were confined to a not very spacious court-
yard, exchanged in summer for a litde garden within the
walls, which my father hired. We took no walks. Only
pnce a year, when the harvest was ripe, our parents took us out
to spend an evening in the fields,^^ t So little had Goethe of
this prejudice against fresh air, that when he began the
rebuilding of his Gartenhaus, instead of sleeping at an hotel
ox at the house of a friend, he lived there through all the
building period ; and we find him writing, " At last I have a
window once more, and can make a fire." On the 3d of
May he writes, " Good morning : here is asparagus. How
were you yesterday? Philip baked me a cake; and there-
upon, wrapped up in my blue cloak, I laid myself on a dry
corner of the terrace and slept amid thunder, lightning, and
rain, so gloriously that my bed was afterwards quite disagree-
able." On the 19th he writes, "Thanks for the breakfast.
I send you something in return. Last night I slept on the

* BiEDERMANN, DeutscklancTs Politische Materielle und Sociale
ZustdncUy I. p. 343.
t Quoted by Mrs. Austin, Germany from 1760 to 1814, p. 85.

1777] PRIVATE THEATRICALS. igg

terrace, wrapped in my blue cloak, awoke three times, at 1 2,
2, and 4, and each time there was a new splendor in the heav-
ens!' There are other traces of this tendency to bivouac, but
these will sufl&ce. He bathed, not only in the morning
sunlight, but also in the Ilm, when the moonlight shimmered
on it.

One night, while the moon was calmly shining on our
poetical bather, a peasant, returning home, was in the act of
climbing over the bars of the floating bridge when Goethe
espied him, and, moved by that spirit of deviltry which so often
startled Weimar, he gave utterance to wild sepulchral tones,
raised himself half out of water, ducked under, and re-
appeared howling, to the horror of the aghast peasant, who,
hearing such sounds issue from a figure with long floating
hair, fled as if a legion of devils were at hand. To this day
there remains an ineradicable belief in the existence of the
water-sprite who howls among the waters of the Ilm.

CHAPTER IV.

PRIVATE THEATRICALS.

" Let my present life," writes Goethe to Lavater, January,
1777, " continue as long as it will, at any rate I have heartily
enjoyed a genuine experience of the variegated throng and
press of the world, — Sorrow, Hope, Love, Work, Wants, Ad-
venture, Ennui, Impatience, Folly, Joy, the Expected and the
Unknown, the Superficial and the Profound, — just as the dice
threw — with fStes, dances, sledgings — adorned in silk and
spangles — a marvellous minage / And withal, dear brother,
God be praised, in myself and in my real aims in life I am
quite happy."

200 '^^^ STORY OF GOETHE: S LIFE, [book iv.

"Goethe plays indeed a high game at Weimar,** writes
Merck, " but lives at Court after his own fashion. The Duke
b an excellent man, let them say what they will, and in
Goethe's company will become still more so. What you
hear is Court scandal and lies. It is true the intimacy
between master and servant is very great, but what harm is
there in that ? Were Goethe a nobleman it tvould be thought
quite right. He is the soul and direction of everything, and
all are contented with him, because he serves many and
injures no one. Who can withstand the disinterestedness of
this man ? "

He had begun to make his presence felt in the serious
department of affairs ; not only in educating the Duke who
had chosen him as his friend, but also in practical ameliora-
tions. He had induced the Duke to call Herder to Weimar,
as Hof Prediger (Court chaplain) and Genera/superintendent;
whereat Weimar grumbled and gossiped, setting afloat stories
of Herder having mounted the pulpit in boots and spurs.
Not content with these efforts in a higher circle, Goethe
sought to improve the condition of the people ; and among
his plans we note one for the opening of the Ilmenau mines,
which for many years had been left untouched.

Amusement went hand in hand with business. Among
the varied amusements, one, which greatly occupied his time
and fancy, deserves a more special notice, because it will give
us a glimpse of the Court, and will also show us how the poet
turned sport into profit. I allude to the private theatricals
which were started shortly after his arrival. It should be
premised that the theatre was still in ashes from the fire of
1774.* Seyler had carried his troupe of players elsewhere;
and Weimar was without its stage. Just at this period private

* On the state of the theatre before Goethe's arrival and subsequently,
see Pasque, Goethe's Theaterleitung in Weimar^ 1863.

1777] PRIVATE THEATRICALS. 2OI

theatricals were even more " the rage " than they are in
England at present. In Berlin, Dresden, Frankfurt, Augs-
burg, Nuremberg, and Fulda were celebrated amateur
troupes. In Wiirtzburg, for a long while, a noble company
put on sock and buskin ; in Eisenach, Prince and Court
joined in the sport. Even the Universities, which in earlier
times had, from religious scruples, denounced the drama, now
forgot their antagonism, and in Vienna, Halle, Gottingen,
and Jena allowed the students to have private stages.

The Weimar theatre surpassed them all. It had its poets,
its composers, its scene-painters, its costumers. Whoever
showed any talent for recitation, singing, or dancing, was
pressed into service, and had to work as hard as if his bread
depended on it The almost daily rehearsals of drama, opera,
or ballet occupied and delighted men and women glad to
have something to do. The troupe was distinguished : the
Duchess Amalia, Karl August, Prince Constantine, Bode,
Knebel, Einsiedel, Musaus, Seckendorf, Bertuch, and Goethe,
with Corona Schroter, Kotzebue's sister Amalia, and Frau-
lein Gdchhausen. These formed a curious strolling company,
wandering from Weimar to all the palaces in the neighbor-
hood — Ettersburg, Tiefurt, Belvedere, even to Jena, Dom-
burg, and Ilmenau. Often did Bertuch, as Falk tells us,
receive orders to have the sumpter wagon, or travelling
kitchen, ready for the early dawn, when the Court would
start with its wandering troupe. If only a short expedition
was intended, three sumpter asses were sufficient. If it was
more distant, over hill and dale, far into the distant country,
then indeed the night before was a busy one, and all the
ducal pots and pahs were in requisition. Such boiling and
stewing and roasting I such slaughter of capons, pigeons, and
fowls ! The ponds of the Ilm were dragged for fish ; the
woods were robbed of their partridges; the cellars were
9*

202 THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE, [book iy.

lightened of their wines. With early dawn rode forth the
merry party, full of anticipation, wild with animal spirits.
On they went through solitudes, the grand old trees of which
were wont only to see the soaring hawk poised above their
tops, or the wild-eyed deer bounding past the hut of the
charcoal-burner. On they went: youth, beauty, gladness,
and hope, a goodly train, like that which animated the forest
of Ardennes, when " under the shade of melancholy boughs "
the pensive Duke and his followers forgot awhile their cares
and " painted pomps."

Their stage was soon arranged. At Ettersburg the traces
are still visible of this forest stage, where, when weather per-
mitted, the performances took place. A wing of the chateau
was also made into a theatre. But the open-air perform-
ances were most relished. To rehearsals and performances in
Ettersburg the actors, sometimes as many as twenty, were
brought in the Duke's equipages ; and in the evening, after a
joyous supper often enlivened with songs, they were conduct-
ed home by the Duke's body-guard of Hussars bearing torch-
es. It was here they performed Einsiedel's opera, The Gyp-
sies^ with wonderful illusion. Several scenes of Gotz von Ber-
lichingen were woven into it. The illuminated trees, the
crowd of gypsies in the wood, the dances and songs under the
blue starlit heavens, while the sylvan bugle sounded from
afar, made up a picture the magic of which was never for-
gotten. On the Ilm also, at Tiefurt, just where the river
makes a beautiful bend round the shore, a regular theatre
was constructed. Trees, and other poetical objects, such as
fishermen, nixies, water-spirits, moon, and stars, — all were
introduced with effect.

I find further that when a travesty of the " Birds " of Aris-
tophanes was performed at Ettersburg, the actors were all
dressed in real feathers, their heads completely covered,

1777] PRIVATE THEATRICALS. 203

though free to move. Their wings flapped, their eyes rolled,
and ornithology was absurdly parodied. It is right to add
that besides these extravagances and ombres chinoises^ there
were very serious dramatic efforts : among them we find
Goethe's second dramatic attempt, Die Mitschuldigen^ which
was thus cast : —

Alceste Goethe.

Sailer Bertuch.

Der Wirth Musaus.

Sophie Corona Schroter.

Another play was the Geschwisfer, written in three evenings,
it is said, but without evidence, out of love for the sweet eyes
of Amalia Kotzebue, sister of the dramatist, then a youth.
Kotzebue thus touches the point in his Memoirs : " Goethe
had at that time just written his charming piece, DU Ges-
ckwister. It was performed at a private theatre at Weimar,
he himself playing William, and my sister, Marianne; while
to me — yes, to me — was allotted the important part of Pos-
tilion ! My readers may imagine with what exultation I trod
the stage for the first time before the mighty public itself"
Another piece was Cumberland's West-Indian, in which the
Duke played Major OTlaherty ; Eckhoff(the great actor),
the Father ; and Goethe, Belcour, dressed in a white coat
with silver lace, blue silk vest, and blue silk knee-breeches,
in which, it is said, he looked superb.

While mentioning these, I must not pass over the Iphigenia
(then in prose), which was thus cast : —

Orestes Goethe.

Pylades Prince Constantine.

Thoas KnebeL

Arkas Seidler.

Iphigenia Corona Schroter.

•* Never shall I forget," exclaims Dr. Hufeland, "the impres-

204 '^^^ STORY OF GOETHE* S LIFE, [book IV.

sion Goethe made as Orestes, in his Grecian costume ; one
might have fancied him Apollo. Never before had there
been seen such union of physical and intellectual beauty in
one man ! His acting, as far as I can learn, had the ordinary
defects of amateur acting ; it was impetuous and yet stiff, ex-
aggerated and yet cold ; and his fine sonorous voice displayed
itself without nice reference to shades of meaning. In comic
parts, on the other hand, he seems to have been excellent ;
the broader the fun, the more at home he felt ; and one can
imagine the rollicking animal spirits with which he animated
the Marktschreier in the PlundersweiUm ; one can picture
him in the extravagance of the Geftickte Braut* giving vent
to his sarcasam on the " sentimental " tone of the age, ridicul-
ing his own Werther, and merciless to Woldemar. f

I have thus brought together, irrespective of dates, the
scattered indications of these theatrical amusements. How
much enjoyment was produced by them ! what social pleasure !
and what endless episodes, to which memory recurred in after
times, when the actors were seated round the dinner-table !
Nor were these amusements profitless. Wilhelm Meister
was designed and partly written about this period ; and the
reader, who knows Goethe's tendency to make all his works
biographical, will not be surprised at the amount of theatrical
experience which is mirrored in that work ; nor at the ear
nestness which is there made to lurk beneath amusement, so
that what to the crowd seems no more than a flattery of their
tastes, is to the man himself a process of the highest culture.

Boar-hunting in the light of early dawn, sitting in the mid-
dle of the day in grave diplomacy and active council, rehears-

* Published under a very mitigated form, as the Triumph der Emp-
findsamkeit See the next chapter for further notice of this piece.

t Jacobi and Wieland were both seriously offended with his parodies
of their writings ; but both soon became recoBciltd to him.

1777] PRIVATE THEATRICALS.

205

ing during the afternoon, and enlivening the evening with
grotesque serenades or torchlight sledgings, — thus passed
many of his days ; not to mention flirtations, balls, masquer-
ades, concerts, and verse-writing. The muse was, however,
somewhat silent, though Hans Sach^ poetische Senndung^ Lila^
some charming lyrics, and the dramas and operas, written for
the occasion, forbid the accusation of idleness. He was
storing up materials. Fausty Egmont^ Tasso^ Iphigeniay and
Meister were germinating.

The muse was silent, but was the soul inactive ? As these
strange and variegated scenes passed before his eyes, was he
a mere actor, and not also a spectator ? Let his works an-
swer. To some indeed it has seemed as if in thus lowering
great faculties to the composition of slight operas and festive
pieces, Goethe was faithless to his mission, false to his own
genius. Herder thought that the Chosen One should devote
himself to great works. This is the objection of a man of let-
ters who can conceive no other aim than the writing of books.
But Goethe needed to live as well as to write. Life is multi-
plied and rendered infinite by Feeling and Knowledge. He
sought both to feel and to know. The great works he has
written — works high in conception, austerely grand in execu-
tion, the fruits of earnest toil and lonely self-seclusion —
ought to shield him now from any charge of wasting his time
on fnvolities. But to Herder and Merck such a point of view
was denied.

It was his real artistic nature, and genuine poetic mobility,
that made him scatter with a prodigal hand the trifles which
distressed his friends. Poetry was a melodious voice breath-
ing from his entire manhood, not a profession, not an act of
duty. It was an impulse : the sounding chords of his poetic
nature vibrated to every touch, grave and stately, sweet and
impassioned, delicate and humorous. He wrote not for

2o6 ^-^-^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book iv.

Fame. He wrote not for Money. He wrote poetry because
he had lived it ; and sang as the bird sings on its bough.
Open to every impression, touched to ravishment by Beauty,
he sang whatever at the moment filled him with delight, —
now trilling a careless snatch of melody, now a simple ballad,
now a majestic hymn ascending from the depths of the soul
on incense-bearing rhythms, and now a grave quiet chant,
slow with its rich burden of meanings. Men in whom the
productive activity is great cannot be restrained from throw-
ing off trifles, as the plant throws off buds beside the expand-
ed flowers. Michael Angelo carved the Moses, and painted
the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, but did he not also lend his
master-hand to the cutting of graceful cameos ?

CHAPTER V.

MANY-COLORED THREADS.

Hitherto our narrative of this Weimar period has moved
mainly among generalities, for only by such means could a
picture of this episode be painted. Now, as we advance fur-
ther, it is necessary to separate the threads of his career from
those of others with which it was interwoven.

It has already been noted that he began to tire of the fol-
lies and extravagances of the first months. In this year,
1777, he was quiet in his Garden House, occupied with draw-
ing, poetry, botany, and the one constant occupation of his
heart, — love for the Frau von Stein. Love and ambition
were the guides which led him through the labyrinth of the
court. Amid those motley scenes, amid those swiftly succeed-
ing pleasures. Voices, sorrowing Voices of the Past, made

17771 MANY-COLORED THREADS, 207

themselves audible above the din, and recalled the vast hopes
which once had given energy to his aims ; and these reverbera-
tions of an ambition once so cherished, arrested and rebuked
him, like the deep murmurs of some solemn bass moving
slowly through the showering caprices of a sportive melody.
No soul can endure uninterrupted gayety and excitement :
weary intervals will occur : the vulgar soul fills these intervals
with the long lassitude of its ennui; the noble soul with
reproaches at the waste of irrevocable hours.

The quiet influence exercised by the Frau von Stein is vis-
ible in every page of his letters. As far as I can divine the
state of things in the absence of her letters, I fancy she co-
quetted with him ; when he showed any disposition to throw
off her yoke, when his manner seemed to imply less warmth,
she lured him back with tenderness ; and vexed him with unex-
pected coldness when she had drawn him once more to her
feet " You reproach me," he writes, " with alternations in my
love. It is not true ; but it is well that I do not every day feel
how utterly I love you." Again : " I cannot conceive why the
main ingredients of your feeling have lately been Doubt and
want of Belief. But it is certainly true that one who did not
hold firm his affection might have that affection doubted away,
just as a man may be persuaded that he is pale and ill."
That she tormented him with these coquettish doubts is but
too evident ; and yet when he is away from her she writes to
tell him he is become dearer ! " Yes, my treasure ! " he replies,
' " I believe you when you say your love increases for me dur-
ing absence. When away, you love the idea you have formed
of me ; but when present, that idea is often disturbed by

my folly and madness I love you better when present

than when absent : hence, I conclude my love is truer than
yours." At times he seems himself to have doubted whether
he really loved her, or only loved the delight of her presence.

208 THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book iv.

With these doubts mingles another element, his ambition
to do something which will make him worthy of her. In spite
of his popularity, in spite of his genius, he has not subdued
her heart, but only agitated it. He endeavors, by devotion, to
succeed. Thus love and ambition play into each other's
hands, and keep him in a seclusion which astonishes and
pains several of those who could never have enough of his
company.

In the June of this year his solitude was visited by one of
the agitations he could least withstand, — the death of his
only sister, Cornelia. Sorrows and dreams is the significant
entry of the following day in his journal.

It was about this time that he undertook the care of Peter
Imbauragarten, a Swiss peasant boy, the protk^e of his friend
Baron Lindau. The death of the Baron left Peter once more
without protection. Goethe, whose heart was open to all, es-
pecially to children, gladly undertook to continue the Baron's
care ; and as we have seen him sending home an Italian im-
age-boy to his mother at Frankfurt, and Wilhdtn Metsieruxi'
dertaking the care of Mignon and Felix, so does this " cold "
Goethe add love to charity, and become a father to the i^-
therless.

The autumn tints were beginning to mingle their red and
yellow with the dark and solemn firs of the Ilmenau Moun-
tains ; Goethe and the Duke could not long keep away from
the loved spot, where poetical and practical schemes occupied
the day, and many a wild prank startled the night. There
they danced with peasant-girls till early dawn ; one result of
which was a swelled face, forcing Goethe to lay up.

On his return to Weimar he was distressed by the receipt
of one ot the many letters which Werther drew upon him. He
had made sentimentality poetical ; it soon became a fashion.
Many were the melancholy youths who poured forth their

1777] MANY-COLORED THREADS. 209

sorrows to him, demanding sympathy and consolation. Noth-
ing could be more antipathetic to his clear and healthy na-
ture. It made him ashamed of his Werth<r* It made him
merciless to all Wertherism. To relieve himself of the an-
noyance, he commenced the satirical extravaganza of the Tri-
umph der EmpfindsamkdL Very significant, however, of the
unalterable kindliness of his disposition is the fact, that al-
though these sentimentalities had to him only a painful or a
ludicrous aspect, he did not suffer his repugnance to the mal-
ady to destroy his sympathy for the patient. There is a proof
of this in the episode he narrates of his Harz journey, made
*in November and December of this year,* known to most
readers through his poem, Die Harzreise in Winter. The
object of that journey was twofold ; to visit the Ilmenau mines,
and to visit an unhappy misanthrope whose Wertherism had
distressed him.

The letter of the misanthrope just alluded to was signed
Plessing, and dated from Wemigerode. There was something
remarkable in the excess of its morbidity, accompanied by
indications of real talent Goethe did not answer it, having
already hampered himself in various ways by responding to
such extraneous demands upon his sympathy ; another and
more passionate letter came imploring an answer, which was
still silently avoided. But now the idea of personally ascer-
taining what manner of man his correspondent was, made him
swerve from his path ; and under his assumed title of land-
scape-painter he called on Plessing.

On hearing that his visitor came from Gotha, Plessing
eagerly inquired whether he had not visited Weimar, and
whether he knew the celebrated men who lived there ? With
perfect simplicity Goethe replied that he did, and began

* And not in i776» as he says ; that dat« is disproved by his letter^ to
the Frau von Stein.

N

2IO THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE, [book iv.

talking of Kraus, Bertuch, Musaus, Jagemann, etc., when he
was impatiently interrupted with, " But why don't you mention
Goethe ? " He answered that Goethe also had he seen ;
upon this he was called upon to give a description of that
great poet, which he did in a quiet way, sufficient to have
betrayed his incognito to more sagacious eyes.

Plessing then with great agitation informed him that Goethe
had not answered a most pressing and passionate letter in
which he, Plessing, had described the state of his mind, and
had implored direction and assistance. Goethe excused him-
self as he best could ; but Plessing insisted on reading him
the letters, that he might judge whether they deserved such
treatment.

He listened, and tried by temperate sympathetic counsel
to wean Plessing from his morbid thoughts by fixing them
on external objects, especially by some active employment
These were impatiently rejected, and Goethe left him, feeling
that the case was almost beyond help.

He was subsequently able to assist Plessing, who, on visit-
ing him at Weimar, discovered his old acquaintance, the
landscape-painter.* But the characteristic part of this anec-
dote — and that which makes me cite it here — is, the prac-
tical illustration it gives of his fundamental realism, which
looked to nature and earnest activity as the sole cure for
megrims, sentimental isms, and self-torturings. Turn your

* In 1788, Plessing was appointed professor of philosophy in the uni-
versity of Duisburg, where Goethe visited him on his return home from
the campaign in France, 1792. The reader may be interested to know,
that Plessing entirely outlived his morbid melancholy, and gained a
respectable name in German letters His principal works are Osiris
und Socrates ^ 1783 ; Historische und philosophise he Untersiuhungen iiber
die Denkart, Theologie und Philosophie der dltesten Vo/her, 1785 ; and
Afemnomium, oder Versuche zur EnthOllung der Geheimmsse des Alier^
thums, 1787. He died 1806.

1778] MANY-COLORED THREADS, 2II

mind to realities, he said, and the self-made phantoms which
darken your soul will disappear like night at the approach of
dawn

In the January of the following year (1778) Goethe was
twice brought face to face with Death. The first was during
a boar-hunt : his spear snapped in the onslaught, and he was
in imminent peril, but fortunately escaped. On the follow-
ing day, while he and the Duke were skating (perhaps talking
over yesterday's escape), there came a crowd over the ice,
bearing the corpse of the unhappy Fraulein von Lassberg,
who, in the despair of unrequited love, had drowned herself
in the Ilm, close by the very spot where Goethe was wont to
take his evening walk. At all times this would have been a
shock to him, but the shock was greatly intensified by the
fact that in the pocket of the unfortunate girl was found a
copy of Werther I* It is true we never reproach an author
in such cases. No reflecting man ever reproached Plato with
the suicide of Cleombrotus, or Schiller with the brigandage of
highwaymen. Yet when fatal coincidences occur, the author,
whom we absolve, cannot so lightly absolve himself. It is in
vain to argue that the work does not, rightly considered,
lead to suicide ; if it does so, wrongly considered, it is the
proximate cause ; and the author cannot easily shake off that
weight of .blame. Goethe, standing upon logic, might have
said : " If Plato instigated the suicide of Cleombrotus, cer-
tainly he averted that of Olympiodorus ; if I have been one
of the many causes which moved this girl towards that fatal
act, I have also certainly been the cause of saving others,
notably that young Frenchman who wrote to thank me." He
might have argued thus; but Conscience is tenderer than

* Riemer, who will never admit anything that may seem to tell against
his idol, endeavors to throw a doubt on this fact, saying it was reported
only out of malice. But he gives no reasons.

212 THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book nr.

Logic ; and if in firing at a wild beast I kill a brother hunter,
my conscience will not leave me altogether in peace.

The body was borne to the house of the Frau von Stein,
which stood nearest the spot, and there he remained with it
the whole day, exerting himself to console the wretched
parents. He himself had need of some consolation. The
incident affected him deeply, and led him to speculate on all
cognate subjects, especially on melancholy. " This inviting
sadness,'' he beautifully says, '' has a dangerous fascination,
like water itself^ and we are charmed by the reflex of the stars
of heaven which shines through both**

He was soon, however, ^^ forced into theatrical levity " by
the various rehearsals necessary for the piece to be performed
on the birthday of the Duchess. This was the Triumph der
Empflndsamkeit. The adventure with Plessing, and finally
the tragedy of the Fraulein von Lassberg, had given increased
force to his antagonism against Wertherism and Sentimental-
ity, which he now lashed with unsparing ridicule. The hero
of his extravaganza is a Prince, whose soul is only fit for
moonlight ecstasies and sentimental rhapsodies. He adores
Nature ; not the rude, rough, imperfect Nature whose gigantic
energy would alarm the sentimental mind ; but the beautiful
rose-pink Nature of books. He likes Nature as one sees it
at the Opera. Rocks are picturesque it is true ; but they are
often crowned with tiaras of snow, sparkling, but apt to make
one " chilly " ; turbulent winds howl through their clefts and
crannies, alarming to delicate nerves. The Prince is not
fond of the winds. Sunrise and early morn are lovely, but
damp ; and the Prince is liable to rheumatism.

To obviate all such inconveniences he has had a mechan-
ical imitation of Nature executed for his use; and this
accompanies him on his travels; so that at a moment's
notice, in secure defiance of rheumatism, he can enjoy a
moonlight scene, a sunny landscape, or a sombre grove.

1778.] MANY-COLORED THREADS, 213

He is in love ; but his mistress is as factitious as his land-
scapes. Woman is charming but capricious, fond but exact-
ing ; and therefore the Prince has a doll dressed in the same
style as the woman he once loved. By the side of this doll
he passes hours of rapture ; for it he sighs ; for it he rhap-
sodizes.

The real woman appears, — the original of that much-
treasured image. Is he enraptured ? Not in the least. His
heart does not palpitate in her presence ; he does not recog-
nize her ; but throws himself once more into the arms of his
doll, and thus sensibility triumphs.

There are five acts of this " exquisite fooling." Originally
it was much coarser and more personal than we now see it.
Bottiger says that there remains scarcely a shadow of its
flashing humor and satiric caprice. The whip of Aristophanes
was applied with powerful wrist to every fashionable folly, in
dress, literature, or morals, and the spectators saw themselves
as in a mirror of sarcasm. At the conclusion, the doll was
ripped open, and out fell a multitude of books, such as
were then the rage, upon which severe and ludicrous judg-
ments were passed, — and the severest upon Weriher. The
whole piece was interspersed with ballets, music, and comical
changes of scene ; so that what now appears a tiresome farce,
was then an irresistible extravaganza.

This extravaganza has the foolery of Aristophanes, and the
physical fun of that riotous wit, whom Goethe was then
studying. But when critics are in ecstasies with its wit and
irony, I confess myself at a loss to conceive clearly what
they mean. National wit, however, is perhaps scarcely
amenable to criticism. What the German thinks exquisitely
ludicrous, is to a Frenchman or an Englishman often of
mediocre mirthfulness. Wit requires delicate handling ; the
Germans generally touch it with gloved hands. Sarcasm is

214 '^^^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book iv.

with them too often a sabre, not a rapier, hacking the victim
where a thrust would suffice. It is a noticeable fact that
amid all the riches of their Literature they have little that is
comic of a high order. They have produced no Comedy.
To them may be applied the couplet wherein the great
original of Grotesque Seriousness set forth its verdict, —

IloXXwf 7^ 9i} ir€ipa<rdrr(i)if airrfyf 6ydyoi% x«/>^<''«w^«*'*

Which I will venture to turn thus, —

" Miss Comedy is a sad flirt, as we guess
From the number who court her, the few she doth bless."

CHAPTER VL

THE REAL PHILANTHROPIST.

A STRANGE phantasmagoria is the life he leads at this
epoch. His employments are manifold, yet his studies, his
drawing, etching, and rehearsing are carried on as if they
alone were the occupation of the day. His immense activity,
and power of varied employment, scatter the energies which
might be consecrated to some great work; but, in return,
they give him the varied store of material of which he stood
so much in need. At this time he is writing Wilhelm Meister^
and Egmont; Jphigenia is also taking shape in his mind.

This man, whose diplomatic coldness and aristocratic
haughtiness have formed the theme of so many long tirades,
was of all Germans the most sincerely democratic, until the
Reign of Terror in France frightened him, as it did others,
into more modified opinions.- Not only was he always de-

♦ Aristophanes, EquiUs, V. 516.

1778] THE REAL PHILANTHROPIST, 215

lighted to be with the people, and to share their homely ways,
which were consonant with his own simple tastes, but we find
him in the confidence of intimacy expressing his sympa-
thy with the people in the heartiest terms. When among the
miners he writes to his beloved, " How strong my love has
returned upon me for these lower classes 1 which one calls
^ the lower, but which in God's eyes are assuredly the highest I
Here you meet all the virtues combined : Contentedness,
Moderation, Truth, Straightforwardness, Joy in the slightes\
good, Harmlessness, Patience . . . Patience . . . Constancy
in ... in ... I will not lose myself in panegyric ! " Again^
he is writing Iphtgenia, but the news of the misery and
famine among the stocking-weavers of Apolda paralyzes him.
" The drama will not advance a step ; it is cursed ; the King
of Tauris must speak as if no stocking-weaver in Apolda felt
the pangs of hunger 1 "

In striking contrast stands the expression of his contempt
for what was called the great world, as he watched it in his
visits to the neighboring courts. If affection bound him to
Karl August, whom he was forming, and to Luise, for whom
he had a chivalrous regard, his eyes were not blind to the
nullity of other princes and their followers. " Good society
have I seen," runs one of his epigrams, " they call it the
*good' whenever there is not in it the material for the
smallest of poems."

" Gute Gesellschaft hab' ich gesehen ; man nennt sie die gute
Wenn sie zum kleinsten Gedicht keine Gelegenheit giebt."

Notably was this the case in his journey with the Duke to
Berlin, May, 1778. He only remained a few days there;
saw much, and not without contempt. "I have got quite
close to old Fritz, having seen his way of life, his gold, his
silver, his statues, his apes, his parrots, and heard his own
curs twaddle about the great man.'' Potsdam and Berlin

2i6 THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book iv.

were noisy with preparations for war. The great King was
absent ; but Prince Henry received the poet in a friendly
manner, and invited him and Karl August to dinner. At
table there were several generals ; but Goethe, who kept his
eyes open, sternly kept his mouth closed. He seems to have
felt no little contempt for the Prussian Court, and its great
men, who appeared very small men in his eyes. " I have
spoken no word in the Prussian dominions which might not
be made public. Therefore I am called haughty^ and so
forth." Varnhagen intimates that the ill-will he excited by
not visiting the literati, and by his reserve, was so great as to
make him averse to hearing of his visit in after years.*
What, indeed, as Varnhagen asks, had Goethe in common
with Nicolai, Ramler, Engel, Zellner, and the rest ? He did
visit the poetess Karschin and the artist Chodowiecki ; but
from the rest he kept aloof Berlin was not a city in which
he could feel himself at home \ and he doubtless was fully
aware of the small account in which he was held by Fred-
erick, whose admiration lay in quite other directions.

On returning to Weimar, Goethe occupied himself with
various architectural studies, apropos of the rebuilding of the
palace ; and commenced those alterations in the park, which
resulted in the beautiful distribution formerly described. But
I pass over many details of his activity, to narrate an episode
which must win the heart of every reader. In these pages it
has been evident, I hope, that no compromise with the truth
has led me to gloss over faults, or to conceal shortcomings.
All that testimony warrants I have reproduced : good and
evil, as in the mingled yarn of life. Faults and deficiencies,
even grievous errors, do not estrange a friend from our
hearts ; why should they lower a hero ? Why should the
biographer fear to trust the tolerance of human s)rmpathy ?

* VermischU Schriften^ III. p. 62.

I77&] THE REAL PHILANTHROPIST. 217

Why labor to prove a hero faultless ? The reader is no valet
de chambre incapable of crediting greatness in a robe de
chambre. Never should we forget the profound saying of
Hegel in answer to the vulgar aphorism (" No man is a hero
to his valet de chambre '*) namely, " This is not because the
Hero is no Hero, but because the Valet is a Valet"* Hav-
ing trusted to the effect which the true man would produce,
in spite of all drawbacks, and certain that the true man
was lovable as well as admirable, I have made no direct ap-
peal to the reader's sympathy, nor tried to make out a case
in favor of extraordinary virtue.

• But the tribute of affectionate applause is claimed now we
have arrived at a passage in his life so characteristic of the
delicacy, generosity, and nobility of his nature, that I cannot
understand how it is possible for any one not to love him,
after reading it. Of generosity, in the more ordinary sense,
there are abundant examples in his history. Riemer has
instanced several,t but these are acts of kindness, thoughtful-
ness, and courtesy, such as one expects to find in a pros-
perous poet. That he was kind, gave freely, sympathized
freely, acted disinterestedly, and that his kindness showed
itself in trifles quite as much as in important actions (a most
significant trait),} is known to all persons moderately ac-

♦ " Nicht aber darum weil dieser kein Held ist, sondern well jener
dcr Kammerdiener ist." — Philosophie der Geschichtey p. 40. Goethe
repeated this as an epigram ; and Carlyle has wrought it into the minds
of hundreds ; but Hegel is the originator.

t MittheUungen^ Vol. I. 102-105.

X There is lamentable confusion in our estimate of character on this
poiiit of generosity. We often mistake a spasm of sensibility for the
strength of lovingness, — making an occasional act of kindness the sign
of a kind nature. Benj. Constant says of himself: *^ Je puis /aire de
bonnes et fortes cuMons : je ne puis avoir de bons procidis.^^ There are hun-
dreds like him. On the other hand, there are hundreds who willingly
o

2i8 THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book IV.

quainted with German literature. But the disposition exhib-
ited in the story I am about to tell is such as few persons
would have imagined to be lying underneath the stately
prudence and calm self-mastery of the man so often styled
" heartless."

This is the story : A man (his name still remains a secret)
of a strange, morbid, suspicious disposition had fallen into
destitution, partly from unfortunate circumstances, partly from
his own fault. He applied to Goethe for assistance, as so
many others did ; and he painted his condition with all the
eloquence of despair.

" According to the idea I form of you from your letters,**
writes Goethe, " I fancy I am not deceived, and this to me is
very painful, in believing that I cannot give help or hope to
one who needs so much. But I am not the man to say,
* Arise, and go farther.' Accept the little that I can give, as
a plank thrown towards you for momentary succor. If you
remain longer where you are, I will gladly see that in future you
receive some slight assistance. In acknowledging the receipt
of this money, pray inform me how far you can make it go.
If you are in want of a dress, great-coat, boots, or warm
stockings, tell me so ; I have some that I can spare.

"Accept this drop of balsam from the compendious
medicine-chest of the Samaritan, in the same spirit as it is
offered."

This was on the 2d of November, 1778. On the nth he
writes again, and from the letter we see that he had resolved
to do more than throw out a momentary plank to the ship-
wrecked man, — in fact he had undertaken to support him.

" In this parcel you will receive a great-coat, boots, stock-
perform many little acts of kindness and courtesy, but who never rise to
the dignity of generosity; these are poor natures, ignorant of the
grander throbbings.

1778.] THE REAL PHILANTHROPIST.

219

ings, and some money. My plan for you this winter is
this: —

" In Jena living is cheap. I will arrange for board and
lodging, etc., on the strictest economy, and will say it is for
some one who, with a small pension, desires to live in retire-
ment. When that is secured I will write to you ; you can then
go there, establish yourself in your quarters, and I will send you
cloth and lining, with the necessary money, for a coat, which
you can get made, and I will inform the rector that you were
recommended to me, and that you wish to live in retirement
at the University.

" You must then invent some plausible story, have your
name entered on the books of the University, and no soul
will ever inquire more about you, neither Burgomaster nor
Amtmann. / have not sent you one of my coats, because it
might be recognized in Jena. Write to me and let me know
what you think of this plan, and at all events in what char-
acter you propose to present yourself."

The passage in italics indicates great thoughtfulness. In-
deed the whole of this correspondence shows the most tender
consideration for the feelings of his prottgL In the post-
script he says : " And now step boldly forth again upon the
path of life ! We live but once Yes, I know perfect-
ly what it is to take the fate of another upon one's own
shoulders, but you shall not perish!" On the 23d he
writes : —

" I received to-day your two letters of the 17th and i8th,
and have so far anticipated their contents as to have caused
inquiry to be made in Jena for the fullest details, as for one
who wished to live there under the quiet protection of the
University. Till the answer arrives keep you quiet at Gera,
and the day after to-morrow I will send you a parcel and say
more.

220 ^^^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE, [book IV.

" Believe me you are not a burden on me ; on the contrary,
it teaches me economy; I fritter away miuh of my income
which I might spare for those in want. And do you think
that your tears and blessings go for nothing ? He who hcLs^
must give, not bless ; and if the Great and the Rich have divided
between them the goods of this world. Fate has counterbalanced
these by giving to the wretched the powers of blessing, powers to
which the fortunate know not how to aspired

Noble words! In the mouth of a pharisaical philan-
thropist declaiming instead of giving, there would be some-
thing revolting in such language ; but when we know that the
hand which wrote these words was " open as day to melting
charity," when we know that (in spite of all other claims) he
gave up for some years the sixth part of his very moderate
income to rescue this stranger from want, when we know by
the irrefragable arguments of deeds, that this language was
no hollow phrase, but the deep and solemn utterance of a
thoroughly human heart, then indeed those words awaken re-
verberations within our hearts, calling up feelings of loving
reverence for him who uttered them.

How wise and kind is this also : " Perhaps there will soon
turn up occasions for you to be useful to me where you are,
for it is not the Project-maker and Promiser, but he who in
trifles affords real service, that is welcome to one who would
so willingly do something good and enduring.

" Hate not the poor philanthropists with their precautions
and conditions, for one need diligently pray to retain, amid such
bitter experience, the good-will, courage, and levity of youth,
which are the main ingredients of benevolence. And it is
more than a benefit which God bestows when he calls us, who
can so seldom do anything to lighten the burden of one truly
wretched."

The next letter, dated December ii, explains itself : —

1778.] THE REAL PHILANTHROPIST. 221

"Your letter of the 7th I received early this morning.
And first, to calm your mind : you shall be forced to noth-
ing ; the hundred dollars you shall have, live where you may :
but now listen to me.

" I know that to a man his ideas are realities ; and al-
though the image you have of Jena is false, still I know that
nothing is less easily reasoned away than such hypochon-
driacal anxieties. I think Jena the best place for your resi-
dence, and for many reasons. The University has long lost its
ancient wildness and aristocratic prejudices ; the students are
not worse than in other places, and among them there are some
charming people. In Jena they are so accustomed to the
flux and reflux of men, that no individual is remarked. And
there are too many living in excessively straitened means, for
poverty to be either a stigma or a noticeable peculiarity.
Moreover it is a city where you can more easily procure all
necessities. In the country during the winter, ill, and with-
out medical advice, would not that be miserable ?

" Further, the people to whom I referred you are good
domestic people, who, on my account, would treat you well.
Whatever might occur to you, I should be in a condition, one
way or another, to assist you. I could aid you in establishing
yourself: need only for the present guarantee your board
and lodging, and pay for it later on. I could give you a little
on New Year's day, and procure what was necessary on
credit. You would be nearer to me. Every market day I
could send you something, — wine, victuals, utensils that would
cost me little, and would make your existence more tolerable;
and I could thus make you more a part of my household ex-
penses. The objection to Gera is, that communication with
it is so difficult ; things do not arrive at proper times, and
cost money which benefits no one. You would probably re-
main six months in Jena before any one remarked your

222 THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book iv.

presence. This is the reason why I preferred Jena to every
other place, and you would do the same if you could but see
things with untroubled vision. How, if you were to make a
trial? However, I know a fly can distract a man with
sensitive nerves, and that, in such cases, reasoning is power-
less.

" Consider it : it will make all things easier. I promise you,
you will be comfortable in Jena. But if you cannot overcome
your objections, then remain in Genu At New Year you shall
have twenty-five dollars, and the same regularly every quarter.
I cannot arrange it otherwise. I must look to my own house-
hold demands ; that which I have given you already, because
I was quite unprepared for it, has made a hole, which I must
stop up as I can. If you were in Jena, I could give you
some little commissions to execute for me, and perhaps
some occupation ; I could also make your personal acquaint-
ance, and so on. But act just as your feelings dictate ; if my
reasons do not convince you, remain in your present solitude.
Commence the writing of your life, as you talk of doing, and
send it me piecemeal, and be persuaded that I am only anx-
ious for your quiet and comfort, and choose Jena simply be-
cause I could there do more for you."

The hypochondriacal fancies of the poor man were invinci-
ble ; and instead of going to Jena he went to Ilmenau, where
Goethe secured him a home, and sent him books and money.
Having thus seen to his material comforts, he besought him to
occupy his mind by writing out the experience of his life, and
what he had observed on his travels. In the following letter
he refers to his other protkgk^ Peter Imbaumgarten : —

" I am very glad the contract is settled. Your mainte-
nance thus demands a hundred dollars yearly, and I will guar-
antee the twenty-five dollars quarterly, and contrive also that
by the end of this month you shall receive a regular allowance

1778] THE REAL PHILANTHROPIST. 223

for pocket-money. I will also send what I can in naiura^
such as paper, pens, sealing-wax, eta Meanwhile here are
some books.

" Thanks for your news ; continue them. The wish to do
good is a bold, proud wish ; we must be thankful when we
can secure even a little bit I have now a proposition to
make. When you are in your new quarters I wish you would
pay some attention to a boy, whose education I have under-
taken, and who learns the huntsman's craft in Ilmenau. He
has begun French; could you not assist him in it ? He draws
nicely ; could you not keep him to it ? I would fix the hours
when he should come to you. You would lighten my anxiety
about him if you could by friendly intercourse ascertain the
condition of his mind, and inform me of it ; and if you could
keep an eye upon his progress. But of course this depends
on your feeling disposed to undertake such a task. Judging
from myself, — intercourse with children always makes me feel
young and happy. On hearing your answer, I will write more
particulars. You will do me a real service^ and I shall be able
to add monthly the trifle which I have set aside for the boy*s ed-
ucation. I trust I shall still be able to lighten your sad con-
dition, so that you may recover your cheerfulness."

Let me call attention to the delicacy with which he here
intimates that he does not mean to occupy Kraft's* time
without remunerating it If that passage be thoroughly
considered, it will speak as much for the exquisite kindness of
Goethe's nature as any greater act of liberality. Few persons
would have considered themselves unentitled to ctsk such a
service from one whose existence they had secured. To pay
for it would scarcely have entered their thoughts. But
Goethe felt that to demand a service, which might be irk-
some, would, in a certain way, be selling benevolence ; if he

* Herr Kra& waft the assumed namt of this still anonymous /r^/lt^.

224 '^^^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book iv.

employed Kraft's time, it was right that he should pay what he
would have paid another master. On the other hand, he in-
stinctively shrank from the indelicacy of making a decided
bargain. It was necessary to intimate that the lessons would
be paid for ; but with that intimation he also conveyed the
idea that in undertaking such a task Kraft would be confer-
ring an obligation upon him ; so that Kraft might show his
gratitude, might benefit his benefactor, and nevertheless be
benefited. After reading such a sentence, I could, to use
Wieland's expression, " have eaten Goethe for love ! "

Kraft accepted the charge ; and Goethe having sent him
some linen for shirts, some cloth for a coat, and begged him
to write without the least misgiving, now sends this letter: —

*' Many thanks for your care of Peter ; the boy greatly in-
terests me, for he is a legacy of the unfortunate Lindau, Do
him all the good you can quietly. How you may advance
him ! I care not whether he reads, draws, or learns French,
so that he does occupy his time, and I hear your opinion of
him. For the present, let him consider his first object is to
acquire the huntsman's craft, and try to learn from him how
he likes it, and how he gets on with it. For, believe me, man
must have a trade which will support him. The artist is
never paid ; it is the artisan. Chodowiecki, the artist whom
we admire, would eat but scanty mouthfuls ; but Chodowiecki,
the artisan, who with his woodcuts illumines the most misera-
ble daubs, he is paid.'*

In a subsequent letter he says : "Many thanks. By your at-
tention to these things, and your care of Peter, you have per-
formed true service for me, and richly repaid all that I may
have been able to do for you. Be under no anxiety about the
future, there will certainly occur opportunities wherein you
can be useful to me ; meanwhile, continue as heretofore."
This was written on the very day of his return to Weimar

1778.] THE REAL PHILANTHROPIST. 225

from the Swiss journey ! If this tells us of his attention to
his protkgk the next letter tells us of his anticipating even
the casualty of death, for he had put Kraft on the list of those
whom he left as legacies of benevolence to his friends. It
should be remarked that Goethe seems to have preserved pro-
found secrecy with respect to the good he was then doing ;
not even in his confidential letters to Frau von Stein is there
one hint of Kraft's existence. In short, /wMw^ is wanting to
complete the circle of genuine benevolence.

The year 1781 began with an increase of Kraft's pension ;
or rather, instead of paying a hundred dollars for his board
and lodging, and allowing him pocket-money, he made the
sum two hundred dollars. " I can spare as much as that ;
and you need not be anxious about every trifle, but can lay
out your money as you please. Adieu; and let me soon
hear that all your sorrows have left you." This advance
seems to have elicited a demand for more money, which pro-
duced the following characteristic answer : —

" You have done well to disclose the whole condition of
your mind to me : I can make all allowances, little as I may
be able to completely calm you. My own aflfairs will not per-
mit me to promise you a farthing more than the two hundred
dollars, unless I were to get into debt, which in my place
would be very unseemly. This sum you shall receive regu-
larly. Try to make it do.

"I certainly do not suppose that you will change your
place of residence without my knowledge and consent.
Every man has his duty : make a duty of your love to me and
you will find it light.

" It would be very disagreeable to me if you were to bor-
row from any one. It is precisely this miserable unrest now
troubling you which has been the misfortune of your whole
life, and you have never been more contented with a thousand

10* o

226 THE STORY OF GOETHKS LIFE. [book 17.

dollars than you now are with two hundred ; because you
always still desired something which you had not, and have
never accustomed your soul to accept the limits of necessity.
I do not reproach you with it ; I know, unhappily too well,
how it pertains to you, and feel how painful must be the con-
trast between your present and your past. But enough ! One
word for a thousand : at the end of every quarter you shall
receive fifty dollars; for the present an advance shall be
made. Limit your wants : the Must is hard, and yet solely
by this Must can we show how it is with us in our inner man.
To live according to caprice requires no peculiar powers."*

The following explains itself : —

" If you once more read over my last letter, you will see
plainly that you have misinterpreted it. You are neither
fallen in my esteem, nor have I a bad opinion of you, neither
have I suffered my good opinion to be led astray, nor has
your mode of thinking become damaged in my eyes ; all
these are exaggerated expressions, such as a rational man
should not permit himself. Because I also speak out my
thoughts with freedom^ because I wish certain traits in your
conduct and views somewhat different, does that mean that I
look on you as a bad man, and that I wish to discontinue
our relations ?

" It is these hypochondriacal, weak, and exaggerated no-
tions, such as your last letter contains, which I blame and
regret. Is it proper that you should say to me, / am to pre-
scribe the tone in which all your future letters must be written ?
Does one command an honorable, rational man such things
as that ? Is it ingenuous in you on such an occasion to un-
derline the words that you eat my bread? Is it becoming in

♦ I will give the original of this fine saying, as I have rendered it but
clumsily : Das Muss ist hart, aber deim Muss kann der Mensch allein
zeigen wie's inwendig mit ihm steht. Willkurlich leben kann jeder.

1778.] THE REAL PHILANTHROPIST. 22/

a moral being, when one gently blames him, or names some-
thing in him as a malady, to fly out as if one had pulled the
house about his ears ? Do not misconstrue me, therefore, if
I wish to see you contented and satisfied with the little I can do
for you. So, if you will, things shall remain just as they were ;
at all events I shall not change my behavior towards you."

The unhappy man seems to have been brought to a sense
of his unjustice by this, for although there is but one more
letter, bearing the date 1783, that is, two years subsequent to
the one just given, the connection lasted for seven years.
When Goethe undertook to write the life of Duke Bemhard,
he employed Kraft to make extracts for hinr from the
Archives ; which extracts, Luden, when he came to look over
them with a biographical purpose, found utterly worthless.*
The last words we find of Goethe's addressed to Kraft are :
" You have already been of service to me, and other oppor-
tunities will offer. I have no grace to dispense, and my fa-
vor is not so fickle. Farewell, and enjoy your little in peace."
It was terminated only by the death of the poor creature
in 1785. Goethe buried him at his own expense, but even
to the Jena officials he did not disclose Kraft's real name.t

To my apprehension these letters reveal a nature so ex-
quisite in far-thoughted tenderness, so true and human in its
sympathies with suffering, and so ready to alleviate suffering
by sacrifices rarely made to friends, much less to strangers,
that, after reading them, the epithets of " cold " and " heart-
less," often applied to Goethe, sound like blasphemies against
the noblest feelings of humanity. Observe, this Kraft was
no romantic object appealing to the sensibility ; he had no
thrilling story to stimulate sympathy ; there was no subscrip-

* See Luden's Riickblicke in Mein Leben,

t I learn this from a letter to the Judge at Jena, which was exhibited
at the Goethe Ausstellungin Berlin, 1861.

228 '^^^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE, [book iv.

tion list opened for him ; there were no coteries weeping over
his misfortunes. Unknown, unfriended, ill at ease with him-
self and with the world, he revealed his wretchedness in
secret to the great poet, and in secret that poet pressed his
hand, dried his eyes, and ministered to his wants. And he
did this not as one act, not as one passing impulse, but as
the sustained sympathy of seven years.

Pitiful and pathetic is the thought that such a man can, for
so many years, both in hb own country and in ours, have
been reproached, nay, even vituperated, as cold and heart-
less I A certain reserve and stiffness of manner, a certain
soberness of old age, a want of political enthusiasm, and
some sentences wrenched from their true meaning, are the
evidences whereon men build the strange hypothesis that he
was an Olympian Jove sitting above Humanity, seeing life but
not feeling it, his heart dead to all noble impulses, his career
a calculated egotism. And in this world in which there are
so few voices and so many echoes, a phrase easily becomes
a tradition. Hundreds now repeat like parrots the phrase
which describes Goethe as calmly contemplating life after
the manner of the Gods. How it was that one so heartless
became the greatest poet of modern times, — how it was that
he whose works contained the widest compass of human life,
should himself be a bloodless, pulseless diplomatist, — no one
thought of explaining till Menzel arose, and with unparal-
leled effrontery maintained that Goethe had no genius, but
only talent, and that the miracle of his works lies in their
style, — a certain adroitness in representation. Menzel is a
man so completely rejected by England, the translation of
his work met with such hopeless want of encouragement, that
I am perhaps wrong to waste a line upon it ; but the bold style
in which his trenchant accusations are made, and the as-
sumption of a certain manliness as the momentum to his sar-

1778.] THE REAL PHILANTHROPIST, 229

casms, have given his attacks on Goethe a circulation inde-
pendent of his book. To me he appears radically incompe-
tent to appreciate a poet. I should as soon think of asking
the first stalwart Kentish farmer for his opinion on the Par-
thenon. The farmer would doubtless utter some energetic
sentences expressing his sense of its triviality ; but the coarse
energy of his language would not supply the place of knowl-
edge, feeling, and taste ; nor does the coarse energy of Men-
zeFs style supply those deficiencies of nature and education
which incapacitate him for the perception of Art.

The paradox still remains, then, in spite of Menzel : a
great poet destitute of the feelings which poetry incarnates,
— a man destitute of soul giving expression to all the emo-
tions he has not, — a man who wrote Werther, Egmant^ Faust,
Hermann und Dorothea^ and Meister^ yet knew not the joys
and sorrows of his kind ; will any one defend that paradox ? *
Not only that paradox, but thisstill more inexplicable one,
that all who knew Goethe, whether they were his peers or his
servants, loved him only as lovable natures can be loved.
Children, women, clerks, professors, poets, princes, — all
loved him. Even Herder, bitter against every one, spoke of
him with a reverence which astonished Schiller, who writes :
" He is by many besides Herder named with a species of
devotion, and still more loved as a man than admired as an
author. Herder says he has a clear, universal mind, the
truest and deepest feeling, and the greatest purity of heart." f
Men might learn so much from his works, had not the notion
of his coldness and indifference disturbed their judgment.

* I remember once, as we were walking along Piccadilly, talking about
the infamous BikhUin von Goethe^ Carlyle stopped suddenly, and with
his peculiar look and emphasis said : " Yes, it is the wild cry of amaze-
ment on the part of all spooneys that the Titan was not a spooney too I
Here is a godlike intellect, and yet you see he is not an idiot ! Not in
the least a spooney ! "

t Briefw, tnit JCorner, I. p. 136.

230 ^^^ STORY OF GOETHB^S LIFE, [book IV.

"In no line," says Carlyle, "does he speak with asperity of
any man, scarcely of anything. He knows the good and
loves it ; he knows the bad and hateful and rejects it ; but in
neither case with violence. His love is calm and active ; his
rejection implied rather than pronounced."

And Schiller, when he came to appreciate by daily inter-
course the qualities of his great friend, thus wrote of him :
" It is not the greatness of his intellect which binds me to
him. If he were not as a man more admirable than any I
have ever known, I should only marvel at his genius from the
distance. But I can truly say that in the six years I have
lived with him, I have never for one moment been deceived
in his character. He has a high truth and integrity, and is
thoroughly in earnest for the Right and the Good ; hence all
hypocrites and phrase-makers are uncomfortable in his pres-
ence." And the man of whom Schiller could think thus is
believed by many to have bepn a selfish egotist, " wanting in
the higher moral feelings ! "

But so it is in life : a rumor, originating perhaps in thought-
less ignorance, and circulated by malice, gains credence in
spite of its improbability, and then no amount of evidence
suffices to dissipate it. There is an atmosphere round certain
names, a halo of glory or a halo of infamy, and men are aware
of the halo without seeking to ascertain its origin. Every
public man is in some* respects mythical ; and fables are
believed in spite of all the contradictions of evidence. It is
useless to hope that men will pause to inquire into the truth
of what they bear said of another, before accepting and re-
peating it ; but with respect to Goethe, who has now been
nearly half a century in his grave, one may hope that evi-
dence so strong as these pages furnish may be held more
worthy of credence than anything which gossip or ignorance,
misconception or partisanship, has put forth without proof

BOOK THE FIFTH.

1779 TO 1793.

■ ■ >

CHAPTER I.

NEW BIRTH.

The changes slowly determining the evolution of charac-
ter, when from the lawlessness of Youth it passes into the
clear stability of Manhood, resemble the evolution of har-
mony in the tuning of an orchestra, when from stormy dis-
cords wandering in pursuit of concord, all the instruments
gradually subside into the true key : round a small centre the
hurrying sounds revolve, one by one falling into that centre,
and increasing its circle, at first slowly, and afterwards with
ever-accelerated velocity, till victorious concord emerges
from the tumult. Or they may be likened to the gathering
splendor of the dawn, as at first slowly, and afterwards with
silent velocity, it drives the sullen darkness to the rear, and
with a tidal sweep of light takes tranquil possession of the
sky. Images such as these represent the dawn of a new
epoch in Goethe's life, — an epoch when the wanderings of
an excitable nature are gradually falling more and more
within the circle of law ; when aims, before vague, now
become clear ; when in the recesses of his mind much that
was fluent becomes crystallized by the earnestness which gives
a definite purpose to his life. All men of genius go through
this process of crystallization. Their youths are disturbed
by the turbulence of errors and of passions ; if they outlive
these errors they convert them into advantages. Just as the

232 THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE, [book v.

sides of great mountain ridges are rent by fissures filled with
molten rock, which fissures, when the lava cools, act like vast
supporting ribs strengthening the mountain mass, so, in men
of genius, passions first rend, and afterwards buttress life.
The diamond, it is said, can only be polished by its own
dust ; is not this S3rmbolical of the truth that only by its own
fallings-off can genius properly be taught ? And is not our
very walk, as Goethe says, a series of falls ?

He was now (1779) entering his thirtieth year. Life
slowly emerged from the visionary mists through which hith-
erto it had been seen ; the solemn earnestness of manhood
took the place of the vanishing thoughtlessness of youth, and
gave a more commanding unity to his existence. He had
" resolved to deal with Life no longer by halves, but to work
it out in its totality, beauty, and goodness, — vom Halbem zu
eniw'dhnmy unci im Ganzm, Guten^ Schonen resolut zu leben,**
It is usually said that the residence in Italy was the cause of
this change ; but the development of his genius was the real
cause. The slightest acquaintance with the period we are
now considering suffices to prove that long before he went to
Italy the change had taken place. An entry in his Diary at
this date is very significant. " Put my things in order, looked
through my papers, and burnt all the old chips. Other times,
other cares ! Calm retrospect of Life, and the extravagances,
impulses, and eager desires of youth ; how they seek satis-
faction in all directions. How I have found delight, espe-
cially in mysteries, in dark imaginative connections ; how I
only half seized hold of Science, and then let it slip ; how a
sort of modest self-complacency runs through all I wrote ;
how short-sighted I was in divine and human things ; how
many days wasted in sentiments and shadowy passions ; how
little good I have drawn from them, and now the half of life
is over, I find myself advanced no step on my way, but stand

1779] ^^^ BIRTH. 233

here as one who, escaped from the waves, begins to dry him-
self in the sun ! The period in which I have mingled with
the world since October, 1775, I ^^u-e not yet trust myself to
look at. God help me further, and give me light, that I may
not so much stand in my own way, but see to do from morn-
ing till evening the work which lies before me, and obtain a
clear conception of the order of things, that I be not as
those are who spend the day in complaining of headache,
and the night in drinking the wine which gives the head-
ache ! "

There is something quite solemn in those words. The
same thought is expressed in a letter to Lavater: "The
desire to raise the pyramid of my existence, the basis of
which is already laid, as high as practicable in the air, ab-
sorbs every other desire, and scarcely ever quits me. I dare
not longer delay ; I am already advanced in life, and perhaps
Death will break in at the middle of my work, and leave the
Babelonic tower incomplete. At least men shall say it was
boldly schemed, and if I live my powers shall, with God's
aid, reach the completion." And in a recently published
letter to the Duke, he says : " I let people say what they
will, and then I retire into my old fortress of Poetry and
work at my Iphigenia, By this I am made sensible that I
have been treating this heavenly gift somewhat too cavalierly,
and there is still time and need for me to become more eco-
nomical if ever I am to bring forth anything." *

No better index of the change can be named than his
Iphigenia auf Tauris, written at this period. The reader will
learn with some surprise that this wonderful poem was origi-
nally written in prose. It was the fashion of the day. Gdtz^
Egmont, Tasso, and Iphigenia, no less than Schiller's Robbers,
FiescOy Kabale und Liebe^ were written in prose ; and when

* Briefwechsel twischen Karl August und Goethe^ I. ii.

234 ^^^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [BOOK V.

Iphigmia assumed a poetic form, the Weimar friends were
disappointed, — Haty preferred the prose.

This was part of the mania for returning to Nature. Verse
was pronounced unnatural : a fallacy : verse is not more un-
natural than song. Song is to speech what poetry is to prose ;
it expresses a different mental condition. Impassioned prose
approaches poetry in the rhythmic impulse of its movements ;
as impassioned speech in its various cadences also ap-
proaches the intonations of music Under great emotional
excitement, the Arabs give their language a recognizable
metre, and almost talk poetry. But prose never is poetry, or
is so only for a moment ; nor is speech song. Schiller
learned to see this, and we find him writing to Goethe : " I
have never before been so palpably convinced as in my pres-
ent occupation how closely in poetry Substance and Form
are connected. Since I have begun to transform my prosaic
language into a poetic rhythmical one, I find myself under a
totally different jurisdiction ; even many motives which in the
prosaic execution seemed to me to be perfectly in place, I
can no longer use : they were merely good for the common
domestic understandings whose organ prose seems to be; but verse
absolutely demands reference to the imagination, and thus I
was obliged to become poetical in many of my motives."

That Goethe should have fallen into the fallacy which as-
serted prose to be more natural than verse is surprising.
His mind was full of song. To the last he retained the fac-
ulty of singing melodiously, when his prose had degenerated
into comparative feebleness. And this prose Iphigenia is
saturated with verses ; which is also the case with Egmont
He meant to write prose, but his thoughts instinctively ex-
pressed themselves in verse. The critical reader will do
well to compare the prose with the poetic version.* He

* See Vol XXXIV. of the edition of 1840-

1779-1 NEW BIRTH. 235

will not only see how frequent the verses are, but how few
were the alterations necessau-y to be made to transform the
prose drama into a poem. They are just the sort of touches
which elevate poetry above prose. Thus, to give an exam-
ple, in the prose he says : unniitz seyn^ Ut todt seyn (to be
useless is ta be dead), which thus grows into a verse, —

" Ein unniitz Leben ist ein friiher Tod.*

Again, in the speech of Orestes (Act II. Sec. I.), there is a
fine and terrible allusion to Clytemnestra, — " Better die here
before the altar than in an obscure nook where the nets of
murderous near relatives are placed." In the prose this allu-
sion is not clear : Orestes simply says, the " nets of assas-
sins." t

In the begining of 1779 we find Goethe very active in his
new official duties. He has accepted the direction of the
War Department, which suddenly assumes new importance,
owing to the preparations for a war. He is constantly riding
about the country, and doing his utmost to alleviate the con-
dition of the people. " Misery," he says, " becomes as pro-
saic and familiar to me as my own hearth, but nevertheless I
do not let go my idea, and will wrestle with the unknown
Angel, even should I halt upon my thigh. No man knows
what I do, and with how many foes I fight to bring forth a
little."

Among his undertakings may be noted an organization of
Firemen, then greatly wanted. Fires were not only numer-
ous, but were rendered terrible by the want of any syste-
matic service to subdue them. Goethe, who in Frankfurt
had rushed into the bewildered crowd, and astonished spec-

* A life not useful is an early death.

t Neither Taylor nor Miss Swanwick appears to have seized the
allusion. One translates it, "by the knives of avenging kindred'' ; the
other, " where near hands have spread assassination's wily net''

236 '^^^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book v.

tators by his rapid peremptory disposition of their efforts
into a system, — who in Apolda and Ettersburg lent aid and
command, till his eyebrows were singed and his feet were
burned, — naturally took it much to heart that no regular ser-
vice was supplied ; and he persuaded the Duke to institute
one-

On this (his thirtieth) birthday the Duke, recognizing his
official services, raised him to the place of Gehdmerath.
" It is strange and dreamlike," writes the Frankfurt burgher
in his new-made honor, " that I in my thirtieth year enter the
highest place which a German citizen can reach. On m va
jamais plus loin que quand on ne sait oi^ Pon va, said a great
climber of this world." If he thought it strange, Weimar
thought it scandalous. " The hatred of people here," writes
Wieland, " against our Goethe, who has done no one any
harm, has grown to such a pitch since he has been made
Geheimerath, that it borders on fury." But the Duke, if he
heard these howls, paid no attention to them. He was more
than ever with his friend. They started on the 12th of Sep-
tember on a little journey into Switzerland, in the strictest
incognito, and with the lightest of travelling-trunks. They
touched at Frankfurt, and stayed in the old house in the
Hirschgrahen, where Rath Goethe had the pride of receiving
not only his son as Geheimerath, but the Prince, his friend
and master. Goethe's mother was, as may be imagined, in
high spirits, — motherly pride and housewifely pride being
equally stimulated by the presence of such guests.

From Frankfurt they went to Strasburg. There the rec-
ollection of Frederika irresistibly drew him to Sesenheim.
In his letter to the Frau von Stein he says : "On the 25th I
rode towards Sesenheim, and there found the family as I had
left it eight years ago. I was welcomed in the most friendly
manner. The second daughter loved me in those days bet-

1779] NEW BIRTH. 23/

ter than I deserved, and more than others to whom I have
given so much passion and faith. I was forced to leave her
at a moment when it nearly cost her her life ; she passed
lightly over that episode to tell me what traces still remained
of the old illness, and behaved with such exquisite delicacy
and generosity from the moment that I stood before her un-
expected on the threshold, that I felt quite relieved. I must
do her the justice to say that she made not the slightest at-
tempt to rekindle in my bosom the cinders of love. She led
me into the arbor, and there we sat down. It was a lovely
moonlight, and I inquired after every one and everything.
Neighbors had spoken of me not a week ago. I found old
songs which I had composed, and a carriage I had painted.
We recalled many a pastime of those happy days, and I found
myself as vividly conscious of all, as if I had been away only
six months. The old people were frank and hearty, and
thought me looking younger. I stayed the night there, and
departed at dawn, leaving behind me friendly faces ; so that
I can now think once more of this comer of the world with
comfort, and know that they are at peace with me."

There is something very touching in this interview, and in
his narrative of it, forwarded to the woman he now loves, and
who does not repay him with a love like that which he be-
lieves he has inspired in Frederika. He finds this charming
girl still unmarried, and probably is not a little flattered at
the thought that she still cherishes his image to the exclusion
of every other. She tells him of Lenz having fallen in love
with her, and is silent respecting her own share in that little
episode ; a silence which all can understand and few will
judge harshly ; the more so as her feelings towards Lenz were
at that time doubtless far from tender. Besides, apart from
the romance of meeting with an old lover, there was the
pride and charm of thinking what a world-renowned name

238 T^^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book v.

her lover had achieved. It was no slight thing even to have
been jilted by such a man ; and she must have felt that he
had not behaved to her otherwise than was to have been ex-
pected under the circumstances.

On the 26th, Goethe rejoined his party, and " in the after-
noon I called on Lili, and found the lovely Grasqffm* with a
baby of seven weeks old, her mother standing by. There
also I was received with admiration and pleasure. I made
many inquiries, and to my great delight found the good crea-
ture happily married. Her husband, from what I could
learn, seems a worthy, sensible fellow, rich, well placed in the
world ; in short, she has everything she needs. He was ab-
sent. I stayed dinner. After dinner went with the Duke
to see the Cathedral, and in the evening saw Paesiello's
beautiful opera, L' Infante di Zamora, Supped with Lili, and
went away in the moonlight The sweet emotions which ac-
companied me I cannot describe."

We may read in these two descriptions the difference of
the two women, and the difference of his feeling for them.
From Strasburg he went to Emmendingen, and there visited
his sister's grave. Accompanied by such thoughts as these
three visits must have called up, he entered Switzerland.
His Briefs aus der Schweitz, mainly composed from the let-
ters to the Frau von Stein, will inform the curious reader of
the effect these scenes produced on him ; we cannot pause here
in the narrative to quote from them. Enough if we mention th at
in Zurich he spent happy hours with Lavater, in communication
of ideas and feelings ; and that on his way home he com-
posed the little opera oijery undBdtely^ full of Swiss inspira-
tion. In Stuttgart the Duke took it into his head to visit the
Court, and as no presentable costume was ready, tailors had

* Grasaffefty that is, " green monkey," is Frankfurt slang for " bud-
ding miss," and alludes to the old days when he knew Lili.

I779-] ^^V^ BIRTH, 239

to be set in activity to furnish the tourists with the necessary
clothes. They assisted at the New Year festivities of the
Military Academy, and here for the first time Schiller, then
twenty years of age, with the Robbers in his head, saw the au-
thor of Gotz and Werther,

It is probable that among all the figures thronging in the
hall and galleries on that imposing occasion, none excited in
the young ambitious student so thrilling an effect as that of
the great poet, then in all the splendor of manhood, in all
the lustre of an immense renown. Why has no artist chosen
this for an historical picture ? The pale, sickly young Schil-
ler, in the stiflf military costume of that day, with pigtail and
papillotes, with a sword by his side, and a three-cornered hat
under his arm, stepping forward to kiss the coat of his sov-
ereign Duke, in grateful acknowledgment of the three prizes
awarded to him for Medicine, Surgery, and Clinical science ;
conscious that Goethe was looking on, and could know noth-
ing of the genius which had gained, indeed, trivial medical
prizes, but had failed to gain a prize for German composi-
tion. This pale youth and this splendid man were in a few
years to become noble rivals and immortal friends ; to strive
with generous emulation, and feel the most genuine delight
in each other's prowess ; presenting such an exemplar of lit-
erary friendship as the world has seldom seen. At this mo-
ment, although Schiller's eyes were intensely curious about
Goethe, he was to the older poet nothing beyond a rather
promising medical student.

Karl August on their return to Frankfurt again took up his
abode in the Goethe family, paying liberal attention to Frau
Aja's good old Rhine wine, and privately sending her a sum
of money to compensate for the unusual expenses of his visit.
By the 13th January he was in Weimar once more, having
spent nearly nine thousand dollars on the journey, including
purchases of works of art.

240 '^^^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE, [book v.

Both were considerably altered to their advantage. In
his Diary Goethe writes : " I feel daily that I gain more and
more the confidence of people ; and God grant that I may
deserve it, not in the easy way, but in the way I wish. What
I endure from myself and others no one sees. The best is
the deep stillness in which I live vis-d^-vis to the world, and
thus win what fire and sword cannot rob me of." He was
crystallizing slowly; slowly gaining the complete command
over himself. " I will be lord over myself No one who can-
not master himself is worthy to rule, and only he can rule."
But with such a temperament this mastery was not easy ; wine
and woman's tears, he felt, were among his weaknesses : —

" Ich kbnnte viel glucklicher se3rn,
Gab's nur keinen Wein
Und keine Weiberthranen."

He could not entirely free himself from either. He was a
Rhinelander, accustomed from boyhood upwards to the stim-
ulus of wine ; he was a poet, never aloof from the fascinations
of woman. But just as he was never known to lose his head
with wine, so also did he never lose himself entirely to a wo-
man ; the stimulus never grew into intoxication.

One sees that his passion for the Frau von Stein continues ;
but it is cooling. It was necessary for him to love some one,
but he was loving here in vain, and he begins to settle into a
calmer affection. He is also at this time thrown more and
more with Corona Schroter ; and his participation in the pri-
vate theatricals is not only an agreeable relaxation from the
heavy pressure of official duties, but is giving him materials
for Wilhelm Meister, now in progress. " Theatricals," he says,
'* remain among the few things in which I still have the pleas-
ure of a child and an artist." Herder, who had hitherto held
somewhat aloof, now draws closer and closer to him, proba-
bly on account of the change which is coming over his way of

1779] J^^W BIRTH, 24I

life. And this intimacy with Herder awakens in him the de-
sire to see Lessing ; the projected journey to Wolfenbiittel is
arrested, however, by the sad news which now arrives : Les-
sing is dead ; the great gladiator is at peace.

Not without significance is the fact that, coincident with
this change in Goethe's . life, comes the passionate study of
Science ; a study often before taken up in desultory impa-
tience, but now commencing with that seriousness which is to
project it as an active tendency through the remainder of his
life. In an unpublished " Essay on Granite," written about
this period, he says: "No one acquainted with the charm
which the secrets of Nature have for man, will wonder that I
have quitted the circle of observations in which I have hither-
to been confined, and have thrown myself with passionate de-^
light into this new circle. I stand in no fear of the reproach
that it must be a spirit of contradiction which has drawn me
from the contemplation and portraiture of the human heart to
that of Nature. For it will be allowed that all things are in-
timately connected, and that the inquiring mind is unwilling
to be excluded from anything attainable. And I who have
known and suffered from the perpetual agitation of feelings
and opinions in myself and in others, delight in the sublime
repose which is produced by contact with the great and elo-
quent silence of Nature." He was trying to find a secure ba-
sis for his aims ; it was natural he should seek a secure basis
for his mind ; and with such a mind that basis could only be
found in the study of Nature. If it is true, as men of science
sometimes declare with a sjieer, that Goethe was a poet in
science (which does not in the least disprove the fact that he
was great in science, and made great discoveries), it is equally
true that he was a scientific poet. In a future chapter we
shall have to consider what his position in science truly is ;
for the present we merely indicate the course of his studies.
11 p

242 THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book v.

Buffon's wonderful hodk, L^s Epoques de la Nature^ — rendered
antiquated now by the progress of geology, but still attractive
in its style, and noble thoughts, — produced a profound im-
pression on him. In Buffon, as in Spinoza, and later on, in
Geoffroy St. Hilaire, he found a mode of looking at Nature
which thoroughly coincided with his own, gathering many de-
tails into a poetic synthesis. Saussure, whom he had seen at
Geneva, led him to study mineralogy ; and as his official du-
ties gave him many occasions to mingle with the miners, this
study acquired a practical interest, which soon grew into a
passion, — much to the disgust of Herder, who, with the im-
patience of one who thought books the chief objects of inter-
est, was constantly mocking him for " bothering himself about
stones and cabbages." To these studies must be added anat-
omy, and in particular osteology, which in early years had
also attracted him, when he attained knowledge enough to
draw the heads of animals for Lavater's Physiognomy. He
now goes to Jena to study under Loder, professor of anatomy.*
For these studies his talent, or want of talent, as a draughts-
man, had further to be cultivated. To improve himself he
lectures to the young men every week on the skeleton. And
thus, amid serious duties and many distractions in the shape
of court festivities, balls, masquerades, and theatricals, he
found time for the prosecution of many and various studies.
He was, like Napoleon, a giant-worker, and never so happy as
when at work.

Tasso was conceived and commenced (in prose) at this
time, nnd Wilhelm Meister grew under his hands, besides
smaller works. But nothing was published. He lived for
himself, and the small circle of friends. The public was never
thought of. Indeed the public was then jubilant in beer-
houses, and scandalized in salons, at the appearance of the

* Comp. Briefw. vwischen Karl August und Goethe, I. 25, 26.

1779] ^^^ BIRTH. ^^43

' Robbers ; and a certain Kiittner, in publishing his Characters
of German Poets and Prose Writers (1781), could compla-
cently declare that the shouts of praise which intoxicated ad-
mirers had once raised for Goethe were now no longer heard.
Meanwhile Egmont was in progress, and assuming a far dif-
ferent tone from that in which it was originated.

It is unnecessary to follow closely all the details, which let-
ters abundantly furnish, of his life at this period. They will
not help us to a nearer understanding of the man, and they
would occupy much space. What we observe in them all is, a
slow advance to a more serious and decisive plan of existence.
On the 27 th of May his father dies. On the ist of June he
comes to live in the town of Weimar, as more consonant with
his position and avocations. The Duchess Amalia has prom-
ised to give him a part of the necessary furniture. He quits
his Gartenhaus with regret, but makes it still his retreat for
happy hours. Shortly afterwards the Duchess Amalia demon-
strates to him at great length the necessity of his being enno'
bled ; the Duke, according to Diintzer, not having dared to
break the subject to him. In fact, since he had been for six
years at court without a patent of nobility, he may perhaps
have felt the " necessity *' as somewhat insulting. Neverthe-
less, I cannot but think that the Frankfurt citizen soon be-
came reconciled to the von before his name ; the more so as
he was never remarkable for a contempt of worldly rank. Im-
mediately afterwards the President of the Chamber, von Kalb,
was suddenly dismissed from his post, and Goethe was the
substitute, at first merely occupying the post ad interim ; but
not relinquishing his place in the Privy Council.

More important to us is the relation in which he stands to
Karl August, and to the Frau von Stein. Whoever reads
with proper attention the letters published in the Stein corre-
spondence will become aware of a notable change in their re-

244 ^^^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE, [book v.

lation about this time (1781-2). The tone, which had grown
calmer, now rises again into passionate fervor, and eveiy note
reveals the happy lover.

While he was thus happy, thus settling down into clearness,
the young Duke, not yet having worked through the turbu-
lence of youth, was often in discord with him. In the pub-
lished correspondence may be read confirmation of what I
have elsewhere learned, namely, that although during their
first years of intimacy the poet stood on no etiquette in pri-
vate with his sovereign, and although to the last Karl August
continued the brotherly ihou^ and the most affectionate famil-
iarity of address, yet Goethe soon began to perceive that
another tone was called for on his part His letters become
singularly formal as he grows older ; at times almost unpleas-
antly so. The Duke writes to him as to a friend, and he re-
plies as to a sovereign.

Not that his affection diminished ; but as he grew more se-
rious, he grew more attentive to decorum. For the Duchess he
seems to have had a tender admiration, something of which
may be read in Tasso. Her dignified, though rather inexpres-
sive nature, the greatness of her heart, and delicacy of her
mind, would all the more have touched him, because he knew
and could sympathize with what was not perfectly happy in
her life. He was often the pained witness of little domestic
disagreements, and had to remonstrate with the Duke on his
occasional roughness.

From the letters to the Frau von Stein we gather that
Goethe was gradually becoming impatient with Karl August,
whose excellent qualities he cherished while deploring his ex-
travagances. "Enthusiastic as he is for what is good and
right, he has, notwithstanding, less pleasure in it than in what
is improper ; it is wonderful how reasonable he can be, what
insight he has, how much he knows ; and yet when he sets

1779] ^^^ BIRTH, 24$

about anything good, he must needs begin with something
foolish. Unhappily, one sees it lies deep in his nature, and
that the frog is made for the water even when he has lived
some time on land." In the following we see that the " ser-
vile courtier" not only remonstrates with the Duke, but
refuses to accompany him on his journey, having on a previous
journey been irritated by his manners. " Here is an epistle.
If you think right, send it to the Duke, speak to him and do
not spare him. I only want quiet for myself, and for him to
know with whom he has to do. You can tell him also that I
have declared to you I will never travel with him again. Do
this in your own prudent, gentle way." Accordingly he lets
the Duke go away alone ; but they seem to have come to
some understanding subsequently, and the threat was not
fulfilled. Two months after, this sentence informs us of the
reconciliation : " I have had a long and serious conversation
with the Duke. In this world, my best one, the dramatic
writer has a rich harvest ; and the wise say, Judge no man
until you have stood in his place." Later on we find him
complaining of the Duke going wrong in his endeavors to do
right " God knows if he will ever learn that fireworks at
midday produce no effect. I don't like always playing the
pedagogue and bugbear, and from the others he asks no advice,
nor does he ever tell them of his plans." Here is another
glimpse : " The Duchess is as amiable as possible ; the Duke is
a good creature, and one could heartily love him if he did not
trouble the intercourse of life by his manners, and did not make
his friends indifferent as to what befalls him by his break-neck
recklessness. It is a curious feeling, that of daily con-
templating the possibility of our nearest friends breaking
their necks, arms, or legs, and yet I have grown quite callous
to the idea ! " Again : " The Duke goes to Dresden. He
has begged me to go with him, or at least to follow him,

246 ^-^^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE, [book v.

but I shall stay here The preparations for the Dres-
den journey are quite against my taste. The Duke arranges
them in his way, i. e., not always the best, and disgusts one
after the other. I am quite calm, for it is not alterable, and
I only rejoice that there is no kingdom for which such cards
could be played often."

These are little discordant tones which must have arisen
as Goethe grew more serious. The real regard he had for
the Duke is not injured by these occasional outbreaks.
"The Duke," he writes, "is guilty of many follies which I
willingly forgive, remembering my own." He knows that he
can at any moment put his horses to the carriage and drive
away from Weimar, and this consciousness of freedom makes
him contented ; although he now makes up his mind that he
is destined by nature to be an author and nothing else. " I
have a purer delight than ever, when I have written some-
thing which well expresses what I meant I am truly

born to be a private man, and do not understand how fate
has contrived to throw me into a ministry and into a princely
family." As he grows clearer on the true mission of his life,
he also grows happier. One can imagine the strange feelings
with which he would now take up Werther^ and for the first
time during ten years read this product of his youth. He
made some alterations in it, especially in the relation of
Albert to Lotte ; and introduced the episode of the peasant
who commits suicide from jealousy. SchoU, in his notes to
the Stein Correspondence* has called attention to a point wor-
thy of notice, namely, that Herder, who helped Goethe in the
revision of this work, had pointed out to him the very same
fault in its composition which Napoleon two-and-twenty years
later laid his finger on ; the fault, namely, of making Werther's
suicide partly the consequence of frustrated ambition and

♦ Vol. III. p. 268.

1783.] PREPARATIONS FOR ITALY, 247

partly of unrequited love, — a fault which, in spite of Herder
and Napoleon, in spite also of Goethe's aquiescence, I
venture to think no fault at all, as will be seen when the
interview with Napoleon is narrated.

CHAPTER 11.

PREPARATIONS FOR FTALY.

With the year 1783 we see him more and more seriously
occupied. He has ceased to be "the Grand Master of all
the Apes," and is deep in old books and archives. The
birth of a crown prince came to fill Weimar with joy, and
give the Duke a sudden seriousness. The baptism, which
took place on the 5th of February, was a great event in
Weimar. Herder preached "like a God," said Wieland,
whose cantata was sung on the occasion. Processions by
torchlight, festivities of all kinds, poems from every poet,
except Goethe, testified the people's joy. There is something
very generous in this silence. It could not be attributed to
want of affection. But he who had been ever ready with
ballet, opera, or poem, to honor the birthday of the two
Duchesses, must have felt that now, when all the other
Weimar writers were pouring in their offerings, he ought not
to throw the weight of his position in the scale against them.
Had his poem been the worst of the offerings, it would have
been prized the highest because it was his.

The Duke, proud in his paternity, writes to Merck : " You
have reason to rejoice with me j for if there be any good dis-
positions in me they have hitherto wanted a fixed point, but
now there is a firm hook upon which I can hang my pictures.

250 ^^^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE, [book v.

ery of an intermaxillary bone in man, as well as in animals.*
In a future chapter! this discovery will be placed in its his-
torical and anatomical light ; what we have at present to do
with it, is to recognize its biographical significance. Until
this discovery was made, the position of man had always
been separated from that of even the highest animals, by the
fact (assumed) that he had no intermaxillary bone. Goethe,
who everywhere sought unity in Nature, believed that such a
difference did not exist; his researches proved him to be
right Herder was at that time engaged in proving that no
structural difference could be found between men and ani-
mals; and Goethe, in sending Knebel his discovery, says
that it will support this view. " Indeed, man is most inti-
mately allied to animals. The co-ordination of the \Vhole
makes every creature to be that which it is, and man is as
much man through the form of his upper jaw, as through the
form and nature of the last joint of his little toe. And thus
is every creature but a note of the great harmony ^ which must
be studied in the Whole, or else it is nothing but a dead letter.
From this point of view I have written the little essay, and
that is, properly speaking, Ihe interest which lies hidden
in it"

The discovery is significant, therefore, as an indication of
his tendency to regard Nature in her unity. It was the prel-
ude to his discoveries of the metamorphosis of plants, and
of the vertebral theory of the skull : all three resting on the
same mode of conceiving Nature. His botanical studies re-

♦ He thus announces it to Herder, 27th March, 1784: "I hasten to
tell you of the fortune that has befallen me. I have found neither gold
nor silver, but that which gives me inexpressible joy, the os intermaxil-
tare in Man ! I compared the skulls of men and beasts, in company
with Loder, came on the trace of it, and lo I there it is." — Am Herder' i
Hachlass, I. 75.

t See, further on, the chapter on The Poet as a Man 0/ Science,

1783.] PREPARATIONS FOR ITALY. 251

ceived fresh impulse at this period. The work of Linnaeus
was a constant companion on his journeys, and we see him
with eagerness availing himself of all that the observations
and collections of botanists could offer him in aid of his own.
"My geological speculations,*' he writes to the Frau von
Stein, "make progress. I see much more than the others
who accompany me, because I have discovered certain funda-
mental laws of formation, which I keep secret, and can from
them better observe and judge the phenomena before me.
.... Every one exclaims about my solitude, which is a
riddle, because no one knows with what glorious unseen
beings I hold communion." It is interesting to observe his
delight at seeing a zebra, — which was a novelty in Germany,
— and his inexhaustible pleasure in the elephant's skull,
which he has procured for study. Men confined to their
libraries, whose thoughts scarcely venture beyond the circle of
Literature, have spoken with sarcasm and with pity of this
waste of time. But — dead bones for dead bones — there is
as much poetry in the study of. an elephant's skull, as in the
study of those skeletons of the past, — History and Classics.
All depends upon the mind of the student ; to one man a
few old bones will awaken thoughts of the great organic pro-
cesses of Nature, thoughts as far-reaching and sublime as
those which the fragments of the past awaken in the histori-
cal mind. But there are minds, and these form the majority,
to whom dry bones are dry bones, and nothing more. " How
legible the book of Nature becomes to me," Goethe writes,
" I cannot express to thee ; my long lessons in spelling have
helped me, and now my quiet joy is inexpressible. Much as
I find that is new, I find nothing unexpected ; everything fits
in, because I have no system, and desire nothing but the
pure truth." To help him in his spelling he begins algebra ;
but the nature of his talent was too unmathematical for him
to pursue that study long.

252 ^^^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book v.

The Duke increased his salary by 200 thalers, and this,
with the 1,800 thalers received from the paternal property,
made his income now 3,200 thalers (less than £,s^o\ He had
need of money, both for his purposes and his numerous char-
ities. We have seen, in the case of Kraft, how large was his
generosity ; and in one of his letters to his beloved, he ex-
claims, ^' God grant that I may daily become more economi-
cal, that I may be able to do more for others." The reader
knows this is not a mere phrase thrown in the air. All his
letters speak of the suffering he endured from the sight of so
much want in the people. " The world is narrow," he writes,
" and not every spot of earth bears every tree ; mankind
suffers, and one is ashamed to see onis self so favored above so
many thousands. We hear constantly how poor the land is,
and daily becomes poorer ; but we partly think this is not
true, and partly hurry it away from our minds when once we
see the truth with open eyes, see the irremediableness, and
see how matters are always bungled and botched ! " That
he did his utmost to ameliorate the condition of the people
in general, and to ameliorate particular sorrows as far as lay
in his power, is strikingly evident in the concurrent testimony
of all who knew an5rthing of his doings. If he did not write
dithyrambs of Freedom, and was not profoundly enthusiastic
for Fatherland, let us attribute it to any cause but want of
heart.

The stillness and earnestness of his life seem to have some-
what toned down the society of Weimar. He went very rarely
to Court ; and he not being there to animate it with his in-
ventions, the Duchess Amalia complained that they were all
asleep ; the Duke also found society insipid : " the men have
lived through their youth, and the women mostly married."
The Duke altered with the rest The influence of his dear
friend was daily turning him into more resolute paths ; it had

1783.1 PREPARATIONS FOR ITALY. ^53

even led him to the study of science, as we learn from his
letters. And Herder, also, now occupied with his great
work, shared these ideas, and enriched himself with Goethe's
friendship.

His scientific studies became enlarged by the addition of a
microscope, with which he followed the investigations of
Gleichen, and gained some insight into the marvels of the
world of Infusoria. His drawings of the animalcules seen by
him were sent to the Frau von Stein; and to Jacobi he
wrote : " Botany and the microscope are now the chief ene-
mies I have to contend against But I live in perfect soli-
tude apart from all the world, as dumb as a fish." Amid
these multiform studies, — mineralogy, osteology, botany,
and constant " dipping " into Spinoza, — his poetic studies
might seem to have fallen into the background, did we not
know that Wilhelm Meister has reached the fifth book, the
opera of Scherz List und Roche is written, the great religious-
scientific poem Die Geheimnisse is planned, Elpenor has two
acts completed, and many of the minor poems are written.
Among these poems, be it noted, are the two songs in
Wilhelm Meister, Kennst Du das Land 'I and Nur wer die
Sehnsiuht kennt? which speak feelingly of his longing for
Italy. The preparations for that.journey are made in silence.
He is studying Italian, and undertakes the revision of his
works for a new edition, in which Wieland and Herder are to
help him.

Seeing him thus happy in love, in fiiendship, in work, with
young Fritz living with him, to give him, as it were, a home,
and every year bringing fresh clearness in his purposes, one
may be tempted to ask what was the strong impulse which
could make him break away from such a circle, and send him
lonely over the Alps ? Nothing but the impulse of genius.
Italy had been the dream of his youth. It was the land

ir

SfUJtr OF GOETMErS UFE,

[book f

his salary hy 200 thalers, and tli
rcceiT^ from the paternal propca;
r 3.200 thalcTS (less than ^£500). He I
, bock for lib pfnposes and his numerous d
is tbe case of Kraft, how large waf
tie of his letters to his beloved, If "
■ God gmu tbai I may daily become more ecof
I mm be abfe to do more for others." The? ' -
a mere phrase thrown in the air. I
oC tbe si&riiig be eodured from the si^ ^
: m tfe licopte. ^ Tbe world is narrow," he
SfEA of Aith bears every tree ; r
f it mthwmxid m sa mi's $dj s& favored
We bear constantly how poor the
poorer ; bat we partly think th
it away from our minds wher
i wm open ei-es, see the irremediabi
WBt l0« atfttss are always btingled and botdiec
te Ai Ib mmoA to ^Acikirate tbe condition of
ase particular sorrows a
^ is so^iBg^T CTident in the concurrei
: of his doings. If he d
\ of Ffeedon. aad w^ not profbitiidly
kt «5 iiZT^^izts tt to anv i^ose

7%r

lad ear^esn^ess of hij life seem t
E3£ 32«rr ae sooeST of Weimar. He wc
: Aid be aoc b^ng diere to animate i
3se r>3k±>css A!rsa!ia coaipEiincd that
K I>Lke i^io fc^cn^d society insipid : ''
I2«^ yci^±. aiid the women mc
w^ liie rest The inflaenc
■s a£o more r^oJott

/tfTi*^'-

I'-,*-'

Irsdentifit: «n=^^ ,_ .-. .?->,»iv- '>v

was
from

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never
passed
es, and
)rld, no
.on had
strength,
: the am-
. at heart.
jn unable
«:n to open
;estions of
lat the only
. The feel-
lich nothing
•ad Mignon's
n before this
onceptions of
y there,
an voices were

254 ^^^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE, [book v.

where self-culture was to gain rich material and firm basis.
That he was born to be a Poet, he now deliberately acknowl-
edged j and nothing but solitude in the Land of Song seemed
wanting to him. Thither he yearned to go; thither he
would go.

He accompanied the Duke, Herder, and the Frau von
Stein to Carlsbad in July, 1786, taking with him his works to
be revised for Goschen's new edition. The very sight of
these works must have strengthened his resolution. And
when Herder and the Frau von Stein returned to Weimar,
leaving him alone with the Duke, the final preparations were
made. He had studiously concealed this project from every
one except the Duke, whose permission was necessary ; but
even from him the project was partially concealed. " For-
give me," he wrote to the Duke, "if at parting I spoke
vaguely about my journey and its duration. I do not yet
know myself what is to become of me. You are happy in a
chosen path. Your affairs are in good order, and you will
excuse me if I now look after my own ; nay, you have often
urged me to do so. I am at this moment certainly able to
be spared ; things are so arranged as to go on smoothly in
my absence. In this state of things all I ask is an indefinite
furlough." He says that he feels it necessary for his intel-
lectual health that he should " lose himself in a world where
he is unknown " ; and begs that no one may be informed of
his intended absence. " God bless you, is my hearty wish,
and keep me your affection. Believe me that if I desire to
make my existence more complete, it is that I may enjoy it
better with you and yours."

This was on the 2d September, 1786. On the 3d he
quitted Carlsbad incognito. His next letter to the Duke
begins thus : " One more friendly word out of the distance,
without date or place. Soon will I open my mouth and say

1786.] ITALY. 2$$

how I get on. How it will rejoice me once more to see your
handwriting ! " And it ends thus : " Of course you let people
believe that you know where I am." In the next letter he
says, " I must still keep the secret of my whereabouts a little
longer."

CHAPTER HI.

ITALY.

The long yearning of his life was at last fulfilled : he was
in Italy. Alone, and shrouded by an assumed name from
all the interruptions with which the curiosity of admirers
would have perplexed the author of Werther^ but which never
troubled the supposed merchant Herr MoUer, he passed
amid orange-trees and vineyards, cities, statues, pictures, and
buildings, feeling himself " at home in the wide world, no
longer an exile." The passionate yearnings of Mignon had
grown with his growth and strengthened with his strength,
through the early associations of childhood, and all the am-
bitions of manhood, till at last they made him sick at heart.
For some time previous to his, journey he had been unable
to look at engravings of Italian scenery, unable even to open
a Latin book, because of the overpowering suggestions of
the language ; so that Herder could say of him that the only
* Latin author ever seen in his hand was Spinoza. The feel-
ing grew and grew, a mental home-sickness which nothing
but Italian skies could cure. We have only to read Mignon's
song, Kennst Du das Land? which was written before this
journey, to perceive how dream-like were his conceptions of
Italy, and how restless was his desire to journey there.
And now this deep unrest was stilled. Italian voices were

256 ^^^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book v.

loud around him, Italian skies were above him, Italian art
was before him. He felt this journey as a new birth. His
whole being was filled with warmth and light. Life stretched
itself before him calm, radiant, and strong. He saw the
greatness of his aims, and felt within him powers adequate
to those aims.

Curious it is to notice his open-eyed interest in all the
geological and meteorological phenomena which present
themselves j an interest which has excited the sneers of some
who think a poet has nothing better to do than to rhapsodize-
They tolerate his enthusiasm for Palladio, because Archi-
tecture is one of the Arts ; and forgive the enthusiasm which
seized him in Vicenza, and made him study Palladio's works
as if he were about to train himself for an architect ; but
they are distressed to find him, in Padua, once more occu-
pied with " cabbages,'* and tormented with the vague con-
ception of a Typical Plant, which will not leave him. Let
me confess, however, that some cause for disappointment
exists. The poet's yearning is fulfilled ; and yet how little
literary enthusiasm escapes him ! Italy is the land of His-
tory, Literature, Painting, and Music; its highways are
sacred with associations of the Past ; its by-ways are cen-
tres of biographic and artistic interest. Yet Goethe, in
raptures with the climate, and the beauties of Nature, is
almost silent about Literature, has no sense of Music, and
no feeling for History. He passes through Verona without
a thought of Romeo and Juliet ; through Ferrara without a
word of Ariosto, and scarcely a word of Tasso. In this
land of the Past, it is the Present only which allures him.
He turns aside in disgust from the pictures of crucifixions,
martyrdoms, emaciated monks, and all the hospital pathos
which makes galleries hideous ; only in Raphael's healthier
beauty, and more human conceptions, can he take delight

1786.] ITALY, 25/

He has ho historic sense enabling him to qualify his hatred
of superstition by recognition of the painful religious strug-
gles which, in their evolutions, assumed these superstitious
forms. He considers the pictures as things of the present,
and because their motives are hideous he is disgusted. But
a man of more historic feeling would, while marking his dis-
like of such conceptions, have known how to place them in
their serial position in the historic development of mankind.

From Venice he passed rapidly through Ferrara, Bologna,
Florence, Arezzo, Perugia, Foligno, and Spoleto, reaching
Rome on the 28th October.

In Rome, where he stayed four months, enjoyment and
education went hand in hand. " All the dreams of pay youth
I now see living before me. Everywhere I go I find an old
familiar face ; everything is just what I thought it, and yet
everything is new. It is the same with ideas. I have gained
no new idea, but the old ones have become so definite, liv-
ing, and connected one with another, that they may pass as
new." The riches of Rome are at first bewildering ; a long
residence is necessary for each object to make its due impres-
sion. Goethe lived there among some German artists : An-
gelica Kaufmann, for whom he had great regard, Tischbein,
Moritz, and others. They respected his incognito as well as
they could, although the fact of his being in Rome could not
long be entirely concealed. He gained, however, the main
object of his. incognito, and avoided being lionized. He had
not come to Italy to have his vanity tickled by the approba-
tion of society ; he came for self-culture, and resolutely pur-
sued his purpose.

Art was enough to occupy him ; and for Painting he had a
passion which renders his want of talent still more notice-
able. He visited Churches and Galleries with steady ear-
nestness ; studied Winckelmann, and discussed critical points

Q

258 '^^^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE, [book v.

with the German artists. Unhappily he also wasted precious
time in fruitless efforts to attain facility in drawing. These
occupations, however, did not prevent his completing the
versification of Ipkigenia, which he read to the German circle,
but found only Angelica who appreciated it; the others
having expected something genialisch, something in the style
of Gotz with the Iron Hand, Nor was he much more fortu-
nate with the Weimar circle, who, as we have already seen,
preferred the prose version.

Art thus with many-sided influence allured him, but did
not completely fill up his many-sided activity. Philosophic
speculations gave new and wondrous meanings to Nature ;
and the ever-pressing desire to discover the secret of vegeta-
ble forms sent him meditative through the gardens about
Rome. He felt he was on the track of a law which, if dis-
covered, would reduce to unity the manifold variety of forms.
Men who have never felt the passion of discovery may rail at
him for thus, in Rome, forgetting, among plants, the quarrels
of the Senate and the eloquence of Cicero ; but all who have
been haunted by a great idea will sympathize with him, and
understand how insignificant is the existence of a thousand
Ciceros in comparison with a law of Nature.

On the 2 2d of February Goethe quitted Rome for Naples,
where he spent five weeks of hearty enjoyment. Throwing
aside his incognito, he mixed freely with society, and still
more freely with the people, whose happy, careless far niente
delighted him.

" If in Rome one must study,^ he writes, " here in Naples
one can only //W." And he lived a manifold life : on the
sea-shore, among the fishermen, among the people, among
the nobles, under Vesuvius, on the moonlit waters, on the
causeway of Pompeii, in Pausilippo, — everywhere drinking
in fresh delight, everywhere feeding his fancy and experience

ir86./ ITALY. 259

with new pictures. Thrice did he ascend Vesuvius ; and as
we shall see him during the campaign in France pursuing his
scientific observations undisturbed by the cannon, so here
also we observe him deterred by no perils from making the
most of his opportunity.

Pompeii, Herculaneum, and Capua interested him less
than might have been anticipated. " The book of Nature,"
he says, " is after all the only one which has in every page
important meanings." Wandering thus lonely, his thoughts
hurried by the music of the waves, the long-baffling, long-
soliciting mystery of vegetable forms grew into clearness
before him, and the typical plant was no more a vanishing
conception, but a principle clearly grasped.

On the 2d of April he reached Palermo. He stayed a fort-
night among its orange-trees and oleanders, given up to the
exquisite sensations which, lotus-like, lulled him into forget-
fulness of everything, save the present. Homer here first
became a living poet to him. He bought a copy of the
Odyssey^ read it with unutterable delight, and translated as he
went, for the benefit of his friend Kniep. Inspired by it, he
sketched the plan of the Nausikaa^ a drama in which the
Odyssey was to be concentrated. Like so many other plans,
this was never completed. The garden of Alcinous had to
yield to the Metamorphoses of Plants^ which tyrannously
usurped his thoughts.

Palermo was the native city of Count Cagliostro, the
audacious adventurer who, three years before, had made so
conspicuous a figure in the affair of the Diamond Necklace.
Goethe's curiosity to see the parents of this reprobate led
him to visit them, under the guise of an Englishman bringing
them news of their son. He has narrated the adventure at
some length; but as nothing of biographical interest lies
therein, I pass on with this brief indication, adding that his

-260 '^^^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book v.

sympathy, always active, was excited in favor of the poor
people, and he twice sent them pecuniary assistance, confess-
ing the deceit he had practised.

He returned to Naples on the 14th of May, not without a
narrow escape from shipwreck. He had taken with him the
two first acts of Tasso (then in prose), to remodel them in
verse. He found on reading them over, that they were soft
and vague in expression, but otherwise needing no material
alteration. After a fortnight at Naples he once more ar-
rived in Rome. This was on the 6th of June, 1787, and he
remained till the 22d of April, 1788; ten months of labor,
which only an activity so unusual as his own could have
made so fruitful. Much of his time was wasted in the dab-
bling of an amateur, striving to make himself what Nature
had refused to make him. Yet it is perhaps perilous to say
that with such a mind any effort was fruitless. If he did not
become a painter by his studies, the studies were doubtless
useful to him in other ways. Art and antiquities he studied
in company with artistic friends. Rome is itself an educa-
tion ; and he was eager to learn. Practice of the art
sharpened his perceptions. He learned perspective, drew
from the model, was passionate in endeavors to succeed
with landscape, and even began to model a little in clay.
Angelica Kaufmann told him, that in art he saw better than
any one else; and the others believed perhaps that with
study he would be able to do more than see. But all his
study and all his practice were vain ; he never attained even
the excellence of an amateur. To think of a Goethe thus
obstinately cultivating a branch of art for which he had no
talent, makes us look with kinder appreciation on the spec-
tacle, so frequently presented, of really able men obstinately
devoting themselves to produce poetry which no cultivated
mind can read ; men whose culture and insight are insuffi-

1788] ITALY. 261

cient to make them perceive in themselves the difference
between aspiration and inspiration.

If some time was wasted upon eflforts to become a painter,
the rest was well employed. Not to mention his scientific
investigations, there was abundance of work executed.
Egmont was rewritten. The rough draft of the first two acts
had been written at Frankfiirt, in the year 1775; and a
rough cast of the whole was made at Weimar, in 1782. He
now took it up again, because the outbreak of troubles in the
Netherlands once more brought the patriots into collision
with the house of Orange. The task of rewriting was labo-
rious, but very agreeable, and he looked with pride on the
completed drama, hoping it would gratify his friends. These
hopes were somewhat dashed by Herder, who — never much
given tQ praise — would not accept Clarchen, a character
which the poet thought, and truly thought, he had felicitously
drawn. Besides Egmont, he prepared for the new edi-
tion of his works, new versions of Claudine von Villa Bella
and Erwln unt Elmlre^ two comic operas. Some scenes of
Faust were written ; also these poems : Amor als Landschafts-
maler; Amor als Gast ; Kunstler^ s Erdmwallm ; Sind A'iinst-
ler's Apotheose. He thus completed the last four volumes of
his collected works which Goschen had undertaken to
publish, and which we have seen him take to Carlsbad and
to Italy as his literary task.

The effect of his residence in Italy, especially in Rome,
was manifold and deep. Foreign travel, even to unintelli-
gent, uninquiring minds, is always of great influence, not
merely by the presentation of new objects, but also, and
mainly, by the withdrawal of the mind from all the intricate
connections of habit and familiarity which mask the real rela-
tions of life. This withdrawal is important, because it gives
a new standing-point from which we can judge ourselves and

262 THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book v.

Others, and it shows how much that we have been wont to
regard as essential is, in reality, little more than routine.
Goethe certainly acquired clearer views with respect to him-
self and his career : severed from all those links of habit and
routine which had bound him in Weimar, he learned in Italy
to take another and a wider survey of his position. He re-
turned home, to all appearance, a changed man. The crys-
tallizing process which commenced in Weimar waa completed
in Rome. As a decisive example, we note that he there
finally relinquishes his attempt to become a painter. He
feels that he is born only for poetry, and during the next ten
years resolves to devote himself to literature.

On the 2 2d April, 1788, he turned homewards, quitting
Rome with unspeakable regret, yet feeling himself equipped
anew for the struggle of life. " The chief objects of my jour-
ney," he writes to the Duke, " were these : to free myself
from the physical and moral uneasiness which rendered me
almost useless, and to still the feverish thirst I felt for true
art. The first of these is tolerably, the second quite
achieved." Taking Tasso with him to finish on his journey,
he returned through Florence, Milan, Chiavenna, Lake Con-
stance, Stuttgard, and Niirnberg, reaching Weimar on the
1 8th June, at ten o'clock in the evening.

CHAPTER IV,

RETURN HOME.

Goethe came back from Italy greatly enriched, but by no
means satisfied. The very wealth he had accumulated em-
barrassed him, by the new problems it presented, and the

1788.] RETURN HOME. 263

new horizons it revealed. He had in Rome become aware
that a whole life of study would scarcely suffice to still the
craving hunger for knowledge ; and he left Italy with deep
regret. The return home was thus, in itself, a grief; the
arrival was still more painful. Every one will understand
this, who has lived for many months away from the circle of
old habits and old acquaintances, feeling in the new world
a larger existence more consonant with his nature and his
aims, and has then returned once more to the old circle, to
find it unchanged, — pursuing its old paths, moved by the
old impulses, guided by the old lights, — so that he feels
himself a stranger. To return to a great capital, after such
an absence, is to feel ill at ease ; but to return from Italy to
Weimar! If we, on entering London, after a residence
abroad, find the same interests occupying our friends which
occupied them when we left, the same family gossip, the
same books talked about, the same placards loud upon the
walls of the iinchanging streets, the world seeming to have
stood still while we have lived through so much : what must
Goethe have felt coming from Italy, with his soul filled with
new experience and new ideas, on observing the quiet, un-
changed Weimar ? No one seemed to understand him ; no
one sympathized in his enthusiasm, or in his regrets. They
found him changed. He found them moving in the same
dull round, like blind horses in a mill.

First, let us note that he came back resolved to dedicate
his life to Art and Science, and no more to waste efforts in
the laborious duties of office.

The wise Duke released his friend from the Presidency of
the Chamber, and from the direction of the War Department,
but kept a distinct place for him in the Council, " whenever
his other affairs allowed him to attend.'* The poet remained
the adviser of his Prince, but was relieved from the more

264 '^^^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book v.

onerous duties of office. The direction of the Mines, and of
all Scientific and Artistic Institutions, he retained ; among
them that of the Theatre.

It was generally found that he had grown colder in his
manners since his Italian journey. Indeed, the process of
crystallization had rapidly advanced \ and beyond this effect
of development, which would have taken place had he never
left Weimar, there was the further addition of his feeling
himself at a different standing-point from those around him.
The less they understood him, the more he drew within him-
self. Those who understood him, Moritz, Meyer, the Duke,
and Herder, found no cause of complaint.

During the first few weeks he was of course constantly at
Court His official release made the bond of friendship
stronger. Besides, every one was naturally anxious to hear
about his travels, and he was delighted to talk of them.

But if Weimar complained of the change, to which it soon
grew accustomed, there was one who had deeper cause of
complaint, and whose nature was not strong enough to bear
it, — the Frau von Stein. Absence had cooled the ardor of
his passion. In Rome, to the negative influence of absence
was added the positive influence of a new love. He had re-
turned to Weimar, still grateful to her for the happiness she
had given him, still feeling for her the affection which no
conduct of hers could destroy, and which warmed his heart
towards her to the last \ but he returned also with little of
the passion she had for ten years inspired ; he returned with
a full conviction that he had outlived it Nor did her pres-
ence serve to rekindle the smouldering embers. Charlotte
von Stein was now five-and-forty. It is easy to imagine how
much he must have been struck with the change in her.
Had he never left her side, this change would have ap-
proached with gradual steps, stealthily escaping observation ;

1788.] RETURN HOME, 265

but the many months' absence removed a veil from his eyes.
She was five-and-forty to him as to others. In this perilous
position she adopted the very worst course. She found him
changed, and told him so, in a way which made him feel
more sharply the change in her. She thought him cold, and
her resource was — reproaches. The resource was more
feminine than felicitous. Instead of sympathizing with him
in his sorrow at leaving Italy, she felt the regret as an of-
fence ; and perhaps it was ; but a truer, nobler nature would
surely have known how to merge its own pain in sympathy
with the pain of one beloved. He regretted Italy ; she was
not a compensation to him ; she saw this, and her self-love
suffered. The coquette who had so long held him captive,
now saw the captive freed from her chains. It was a trying
moment. But even in the worst aspect of the position, there
was that which a worthy nature would have regarded as no
small consolation : she might still be his dearest friend ; and
the friendship of such a man was worth more than the love of
another. But this was not to be.

Before the final rupture he went with her to Rudolstadt,
and there for the first time spoke with Schiller, who thus
writes to Komer, 12th September, 1788 : " At last I can tell
you about Goethe, and satisfy your curiosity. The first sight
of him was by no means what I had been led to expect. He
is of middle stature, holds himself stiffly, and walks stiffly;
his countenance is not open, but his eye very full of expres-
sion, lively, and one hangs with delight on his glances. With
much seriousness, his mien has nevertheless much goodness
and benevolence. He is brown-complexioned, and seemed
to me older in appearance than his years. His voice is very
agreeable, his narrations are flowing, animated, and full of
spirit j one listens with pleasure ; and when he is in good-
humor, as was the case this time, he talks willingly and

Z2

266 '^^^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE, [book v.

with great interest We soon made acquaintance, and with*
out the slightest eflfort \ the circle, indeed, was too large, and
every one too jealous of him, for me to speak much with him

alone, or on any but general topics On the whole, I

must say that my great idea of him is not lessened by this
personal acquaintance ; but I doubt whether we shall ever
become intimate. Much that to me is now of great interest,
he has already lived through ; he is, less in years than in
experience and self-culture, so far beyond me that we can
never meet on the way; and his whole being is originally
different from mine, his world is not my world, our concep-
tions are radically different. Time will show."

Could he have looked into Goethe's soul he would have
seen there was a wider gulf between them than he imagined.
In scarcely any other instance was so great a friendship ever
formed between men who at first seemed more opposed to
each other. At this moment Goethe was peculiarly ill-dis-
posed towards any friendship with Schiller, for he saw in him
the powerful writer who had corrupted and misled the nation.
He has told us how pained he was on his return from Italy
to find Germany jubilant over Heinse's Ardinghello^ and
Schiller's Bobbers and Fiesco. He had pushed far from him,
and forever, the whole Sturm und Drang creed ; he had out-
grown that tendency, and learned to hate his own works which ^
sprang from it \ in Italy he had taken a new direction, hop- |
ing to make the nation follow him in this higher region, as it I
had followed him before. But while he advanced, the nation I
stood still ; he " passed it like a ship at sea." Instead of fol-
lowing him, the public followed his most extravagant imita-
tors. He hoped to enchant men with the calm ideal beauty
of an Iphigenia, and the sunny heroism of an Egmont ; and
found every one enraptured with Ardinghello and Karl Moor.
In this frame of mind it is natural that he should keep aloof

1788.] RETURN HOME, 26/

from Schiller, and withstand the various efforts made to bring
about an intimacy. " To be much with Goethe," Schiller
writes in the February following, "would make me unhappy :
with his nearest friends he has no moments of overflowing-
ness : I believe, indeed, he is an egoist, in an unusual de-
gree. He has the talent of conquering men, and of binding
them by small as well as great attentions : but he always
knows how to hold himself free. He makes his existence be-
nevolently felt, but only like a god, without giving himself:
this seems to me a consequent and well-planned conduct,
which is calculated to insure the highest enjoyment of self-
love Thereby is he hateful to me, although I love his

genius from my heart, and think greatly of him It is

quite a peculiar mixture of love and hatred he has awakened
in me, a feeling akin to that which Brutus and Cassius must
have had for Caesar. I could kill his spirit, and then love
him again from my heart." These sentences read very
strangely now we know how Schiller came to love and rever-
ence the man whom he here so profoundly misunderstands,
and whom he judges thus from the surface. But they are in-
teresting sentences in many respects ; in none more so than
in showing that if he, on nearer acquaintance, came to love
the noble nature of his great rival, it is a proof that he had
seen how superficial had been his first judgment. Let the
reader who has been led to think harshly of Goethe, from one
cause or another, take this into consideration, and ask him-
self whether he too, on better knowledge, might not alter his
opinion. \

"With Goethe," so runs another letter, " I will not compare
myself, when he puts forth his whole strength. He has far more
genius than I have, and greater wealth of knowledge, a more
accurate sensuous perception (eine sichere Sinnlichkeit), and
to all these he adds an artistic taste, cultivated and sharpened

268 '^^^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book v.

by knowledge of all works of Art" But with this acknowledg-
ment of superiority there was coupled an unpleasant feeling
of envy at Goethe's happier lot, a feeling which his own un-
happy position renders very explicable. " I will let you see
into my heart," he writes to Korner. " Once for all, this man,
this Goethe^ stands in my way, and recalls to me so often that
fate has dealt hardly with me. How lightly is his genius
borne by his fate ; and how nrast / even to this moment
struggle 1 "

Fate had indeed treated them very differently. Through-
out Schiller's correspondence we are pained by the sight of
sordid cares, and anxious struggles for existence. He is in
bad health, in difficult circumstances. We see him forced to
make literature a trade ; and it is a bad one. We see him
anxious to do hack-work, and* translations, for a few dollars,
quite cheered by the prospect of getting such work; nay, glad
to farm it out to other writers, who will do it for less than he
receives. We see him animated with high aspirations, and
depressed by cares. He too is struggling through the rebel-
lious epoch of youth, but has not yet attained the clearness
of manhood ; and no external aids come to help him through
the struggle. Goethe, on the contrary, never knew such
cares. All his life he had been shielded from the depressing
influence of poverty ; and now he has leisure, affluence, re-
nown, social position, — little irom without to make him un-
happy. When Schiller therefore thought of all this, he must
have felt that fate had been a niggard step-mother to him, as
she had been a lavish mother to his rival.

Yet Goethe had his sorrows, too, though not of the same
kind. He bore within him the flame of genius, a flame which
consumes while it irradiates. His struggles were with him-
self, and not with circumstances. He felt himself a stranger
in the land. Few understood his language ; none understood
his aims. He withdrew into himself.

1788.] CHRISTIANS VULPIUS. 269

There is one point which must be noticed in this position
of the two poets, namely, that however great Schiller may be
now esteemed, and was esteemed by Goethe after a while, he
was not at this moment regarded with anything beyond the
feeling usually felt for a rising young author. His early works
had indeed a wide popularity ; but so had the works of Klin-
ger, Maler Miiller, Lenz, Kotzebue, and others, who never
conquered the great critics ; and Schiller was so unrecognized
at this time that, on coming to Weimar, he complains, with
surprise as much as with offended self-love, that Herder
seemed to know nothing of him beyond his name, not having
apparently read one of his works. And Goethe, in the offi-
cial paper which he drew up recommending Schiller to the
Jena professorship, speaks of him as " a Herr Friedrich Schil-
ler, author of an historical work on the Netherlands." So
that not only was Schiller's tendency antipathetic to all
Goethe then prized, he was not even in that position which
commands the respect of antagonists; and Goethe considered
Art too profoundly important in the development of mankind,
for differences of tendency to be overlooked as unimportant

CHAPTER V.

CHRISTIANE VULPIUS.

One day early in July, 1788^ Goethe, walking in the much-
loved park, was accosted by a fresh, young, bright-looking
girl, who, with many reverences, handed him a petition.
He looked into the bright eyes of the petitioner, and then, in
a conciliated mood, looked at the petition, which entreated
the great poet to exert his influence to procure a post for a

270 ^-^^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE, [BOOK v.

young author, then living at Jena by the translation of
French and Italian stories. This young author was Vul-
pius, whose Rinaldo Rinaldini has doubtless made some of
my readers shudder in their youth. His robber romances
were at one time very popular ; but his name is now only
rescued from oblivion, because he was the brother of that
Christiane who handed the petition to Goethe, and who thus
took the first step on the path which led to their marriage.
Christiane is on many accounts an interesting figure to those
who are interested in the biography of Goethe ; and the love
she excited, no less than the devotedness with which for
eight-and-twenty years she served him, deserve a more ten-
der memory Ihan has befallen her.

Her father was one of those wretched beings whose drunk-
enness slowly but surely brings a whole family to want
He would sometimes sell the coat off his back for drink.
When his children grew up, they contrived to get away from
him, and to support themselves : the son by literature, the
daughters by making artificial flowers,* woollen work, etc.
It is usually said that Christiane was utterly uneducated, and
the epigrammatic pen glibly records that " Goethe married
his servant." She never was his servant. Nor was she
uneducated. Her social position indeed was very humble,
as the foregoing indications suggest; but that she was not
uneducated is plainly seen in the facts of which there can be
no doubt, namely, that for her were written the Roman
Elegies^ and the Metamorphoses of Plants ; and that in her
company Goethe pursued his optical and botanical re-
searches. How much she understood of these researches we
cannot know ; but it is certain that unless she had shown a
lively comprehension he would never have persisted in talk-

* This detail will give the reader a clew to the poem Dtr neue
Patisias,

1788.] CHRISTIANE VULPIUS. 27 1

ing of them to her. Their time, he says, was not spent only
in caresses, but also in rational talk : —

" Wird doch nicht immer gekiisst, cs wird vemiinftig gesprochen."

This is decisive. Throughout his varied correspondence we
always see him presenting different subjects to different
minds, treating of topics in which his correspondents are
interested, not dragging forward topics which merely interest
him ; and among the wide range of subjects he had mastered,
there were many upon which he might have conversed with
Christiane, in preference to science, had she shown any want
of comprehension of scientific phenomena. There is one of
the Elegies^ the eighth, which in six lines gives us a distinct
idea of the sort of cleverness and the sort of beauty which
she possessed ; a cleverness not of the kind recognized by
schoolmasters, because it does not display itself in aptitude
for book-learning ; a beauty not of the kind recognized by
conventional taste, because it wants the conventional regu-
larity of feature.* Surely the poet's word is to be taken in
such a case !

While, however, rectifying a general error, let me not fall
into the opposite extreme. Christiane had her charm ; but
she was not a highly gifted woman. She was not a Frau
von Stein, capable of being the companion and the sharer of
his highest aspirations. Quick mother-wit, a lively spirit, a
loving heart, and great aptitude for domestic duties, she
undoubtedly possessed : she was gay, enjoying, fond of pleas-
ure even to excess, and — as may be read in the poems
which she inspired — was less the mistress of his Mind than

♦ " When you tell me, dearest, that as a child you were not admired,
and even your mother scorned you, till you grew up and silently devel-
oped yourself, I can quite believe it. I can readily imagine you as a
peculiar child. If the blossoms of the vine are wanting in color and
ibrm, the grapes once ripe are the delight of gods and men."

272 ^-^-^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book v.

of his Affections. Her golden-brown locks, laughing eyes,
ruddy cheeks, kiss-provoking lips, small and gracefully rounded
figure, gave her "the appearance of a young Dionysos.*'*
Her naivetiy gayety, and enjoying temperament completely
fascinated Goethe, who recognized in her one of those free,
healthy specimens of Nature which education had not dis-
torted with artifice. She was like a child of the sensuous
Italy he had just quitted with so much regret 3 and there are
few poems in any language which approach the passionate
gratitude of those in which he recalls the happiness she gave
him.

Why did he not marry her at once ? His dread of mar-
riage has already been shown ; and to this abstract dread
there must be added the great disparity of station, — a dis-
parity so great that not only did it make the liaison
scandalous, it made Christiane herself reject the offer of
marriage. Stahr reports that persons now living have heard
her declare that it was her own fault her marriage was so
iiong delayed; and certain it is that when — Christmas,
1789 — she bore him a child (August von Goethe, to whom
ttie Duke stood godfather), he took her with her mother and
sister to live in his house, and always regarded the connec-
tion as a marriage. But however he may have regarded it,
Public Opinion has not forgiven this defiance of social laws.
The world blamed him loudly; even his admirers cannot
think of the connection without pain. "The Nation," says
Schafer, " has never forgiven its greatest poet for this rupture
with Law and Custom ; nothing has stood so much in the
way of a right appreciation of his moral character, nothing
has created more false judgments on the tendency of his
writings, than his half-marriage."

But let us be just. While no one can refrain from deplor-

* So says Madame Schopenhauer, not a prejudiced witness.

1788.] CHRISTIANE VULFIUS, 273

ing that Goethe, so eminently needing a pure domestic life,
should not have found a wife whom he could avow, — one
who would in all senses have been a wife to him, the mistress
of his house, the companion of his life ; on the other hand,
no one who knows the whole circumstances can refrain from
confessing that there was also a bright side to this dark
episode. Having indicated the dark side, and especially its
social effect, we have to consider what happiness it brought
him at a time when he was most lonely, most unhappy. It
gave him the joys of paternity, for which his heart yearned.
It gave him a faithful and devoted affection. It gave him
one to look after his domestic existence, and it gave him a
peace in that existence which hitherto he had sought in vain.

There is a letter still extant (unpublished) written ten
years after their first acquaintance, in which, like a passionate
lover, he regrets not having taken something of hers on his
journey, — even her slipper, — that he might feel less lonely.
To have excited such love, Christiane must have been a very
different woman from that which it is the fashion in Germany
to describe her as being. In conclusion, let it be added that
his mother not only expressed herself perfectly satisfied with
his choice, received Christiane as a daughter, and wrote
affectionately to her, but refused to listen to the officious
meddlers who tried to convince her of the scandal which the
connection occasioned.

Had Goethe written nothing but the Roman Elegies^ he
would hold a first place among German poets. These elegies
are, moreover, scarcely less interesting in their biographical
significance. They speak plainly of the effect of Italy upon
his mind j they speak eloquently of his love for Christiane.
There are other tributes to her charms, and to the happiness
she gave him ; but were there no other tributes, these would
suffice to show the injustice of the opinion which the malicious
12* R

274 ^^^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book v.

tongues of Weimar have thrown into currency respecting
her, — opinions, indeed, which received some countenance
from her subsequent life, when she had lost youth and beauty,
and when the faults of her nature had acquired painful
prominence. It is Goethe's misfortune with posterity that he
is mostly present to our minds as the calm old man, seldom
as the glorious youth. The majority of busts, portraits, and
biographic details are of the late period of his career. In
like manner, it is the misfortune of his wife that testimonies
about her come mostly from those who only saw her when
the grace and charm of youth had given place to a coarse
and corpulent age. But the biographer's task is to ascertain
by diligent inquiry what is the truth at the various epochs of
a career, not limiting himself to one epoch ; and as I have
taken great pains to represent the young Goethe, so also
have I tried to rescue the young Christiane from the falsifica-
tions of gossip, and the misrepresentations derived from
judging her youth by her old age.

It has already been intimated that Weimar was loud in dis-
approbation of this new liaison^ although it had uttered no
word against the liaison with the Frau von Stein. The great
offence seems to have been his choosing one beneath him in
rank. A chorus of indignation rose. It produced the final
rupture between him and the Frau von Stein.

He offered friendship in vain ; he had wounded the self-
love of a vain woman j tliere is a relentless venom when the
self-love is wounded, which poisons friendship and destroys
all gratitude. It was not enough for the Frau von Stein that
he had loved her so many years with a rare devotion ; it was
not enough that he had been more to her child than its own
father was ; it was not enough that now the inevitable change
had come, he still felt tenderness and affection for her, grate-
ful for what she had been to him ; the one fact, that he had

1788.] THE POET AS A MAN OF SCIENCE. 2/5

ceased to love her, expunged the whole past. A nature with
any ndbleness never forgets that once it loved, and once was
happy in that love; the generous heart is grateful in its
memories. The heart of the Frau von Stein had no memory
but for its wounds. She spoke with petty malice of the " low
person" who had usurped her place; rejected Goethe's
friendship ; affected to pity him ; and circulated gossip about
his beloved. They were forced to meet ; but they met no
longer as before. To the last he thought and spoke of her
tenderly ; and I know on unexceptionable authority that when
there was anything appetizing brought to table, which he
thought would please her, he often said, " Send some of this
to the Frau von Stein."

CHAPTER VI.

THE POET AS A MAN OF SCIENCE.

To the immense variety of his studies in Art and Science
must now be added a fragmentary acquaintance with the phi-
losophy of Kant. He had neither the patience nor the de-
light in metaphysical abstractions requisite to enable him to
master the Critique of Pure Reason ; but he read here and
there in it, as he read in Spinoza ; and was especially inter-
ested in the aesthetical portions of the Kritik der Urtheilskraft
This was a means of bringing him nearer to Schiller, who still
felt the difference between them to be profound ; as we see in
what he wrote to Korner : " His philosophy draws too much
of its material from the world of the senses, where I only draw
from the soul. His mode of presentation is altogether too
sensuous for me. But his spirit works and seeks in every di-

276 '^^^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE, [book v.

rection, striving to create a whole, and that makes him in my
eyes a great man."

Remarkable indeed is the variety of his strivings. After
completing Tasso^ we find him writing on the Roman Carni-
val, and on Imitation of Nature, and stud)ring with strange
ardor the mysteries of Botany and Optics. In poetry it is
only necessary to name the Roman Elegies^ to show what pro-
ductivity in that direction he was capable of; although, in truth,
his poetical activity was then in subordination to his activity
in science. He was, socially, in an unpleasant condition;
and, as he subsequently confessed, would never have been
able to hold out, had it not been for his studies in Art and
Nature. In all times these were his refuge and consolation.

On Art, the world listened to him attentively. On Science,
the world would not listen, but turned away in silence, some-
times in derision. In both he was only an amateur. He had
no executive ability in Painting or Sculpture to give authority
to his opinions, yet his word was listened to with respect,
often with enthusiasm.* But while artists and the public ad-
mitted that a man of genius might speak with some authority,
although an amateur, men of science were not willing that a
man of genius should speak on their topics until he had
passed College Examinations and received his diploma. The
veriest blockhead who had received a diploma considered
himself entitled to sneer at the poet who " dabbled in com-
parative anatomy." Nevertheless, that poet made discoveries
and enunciated laws, the importance of which the professional
sneerer could not even appreciate, so far did they transcend
his knowledge.

Professional men have a right to be suspicious of the ama-

* Rauch, the sculptor, told me that among the influences of his life,
he reckons the enthusiasm which Goethe's remarks on Art excited in
him. Many others would doubtless say the same.

1788.] THE POET AS A MAN OF SCIENCE. 2//

teur, for they know how arduous a training is required by Sci-
ence. But while it is just that they should be suspicious^ it is
absurd for them to shut their eyes. When the amateur brings
forward crudities, which he announces to be discoveries, their
scorn may be legitimate enough ; but when he happens to
bring forward a discovery, and they treat it as a crudity, their
scorn becomes self-stultification. If their professional train-
ing gives them superiority, that superiority should give them
greater readiness of apprehension. The truth is, however,
that ordinary professional training gives them nothing of 'the
sort. The mass of men, simply because they are a mass of
men, receive with difficulty every new idea, unless it lies in
the track of their own knowledge ; and this opposition, which
every new idea must vanquish, becomes tenfold greater when
the idea is promulgated from a source not in itself authori-
tative.

But whence comes this authority ? From the respect paid
to genius and labor. The man of genius who is known to
have devoted much time to the consideration of any subject is
justly supposed to be more competent to speak on that sub-
ject than one who has paid little attention to it. No amount
of genius, no amount of study, can secure a man from his na-
tive fallibility ; but, after adequate study, there is a presump-
tion in his favor ; and it is this presumption which constitutes
authority. In the case of a poet who claims to be heard on a
question of science, we hastily assume that he has not given
the requisite labor ; and on such topics genius without labor
carries no authority. But if his researches show that the
labor has been given, we must then cease to regard him as a
poet, and admit him to the citizenship of science. No one
disputes the immense glory of a Haller or a Redi, on the
ground of their being poets. They were poets and scientific
workers ; and so was Goethe. This would perhaps have been

278 '^^^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE, [book v.

more readily acknowledged if he had walked in the well-beaten
tracks of scientific thought ; but he opened new tracks, and
those who might perhaps have accepted him as a colleague,
were called upon to accept him as a guide. Human nature
could not stand this. The presumption against a poet was
added to the presumption against novelty; singly each of
these would have been an obstacle to a ready acceptance ;
united they were insuperable.

When Goethe wrote his exquisite little treatise on the
Metamorphoses of Plants^ he had to contend against the two-
fold obstacle of resistance to novelty, and his own reputation.
Had an obscure professor published this work, its novelty
would alone have sufficed to render it unacceptable ; but the
obscurest name in Germany would have had 2l prestige ^tsXtx
than the name of the great poet All novelty is prima facie
suspicious ; none but the young welcome it ; for is not every
new discovery a kind of slur on the sagacity of those who
overlooked it ? And can novelty in science, promulgated by
a poet, be worth the trouble of refutation ? The professional
authorities decided that it could not. The publisher of
Goethe's works, having consulted a botanist, declined to
undertake the printing of the Metamorphoses of Plants, The
work was only printed at last because an enterprising book-
seller hoped thereby to gain the publication of the other
works. When it appeared, the public saw in it a pretty piece
of fancy, nothing more. Botanists shrugged their shoulders,
and regretted the author had not reserved his imagination
for his poems. No one believed in the theory, not even his
attached friends. He had to wait many years before seeing it
generally accepted, and it was then only accepted because
great botanists had made it acceptable. A considerable
authority on this matter has told us how long the theory was

* He has also a poem on this subject, but it is scarcely more poetical.

X788.J THE POET AS A MAN OF SCIENCE. 279

neglected, and how "depuis dix ans (written in 1838) il n*a
peut-^tre pas €\.€ public un seul livre d'organographie, ou de
botanique descriptive, qui ne porte Tempreinte des id^es de
cet ^crivain illustre."* It was the fact of the theory being
announced by the author of Weriher which mainly retarded its
acceptance ; but the fact also that the theory was leagues in
advance of the state of science in that day, must not be over
looked. For it is curious that the leading idea had been briefly
yet explicitly announced as early as 1759, by Caspar Friedrich
Wolff, in his now deservedly celebrated Theoria Generationis^
and again, in 1764, in his Theorie von der Generation A I shall
have to recur to Wolflf ; at present it need only be noted that
even his professional authority and remarkable power could
not secure the slightest attention from botanists for the
morphological theory, — a proof that the age was not ripe for
its acceptance.

A few of the eminent botanists began, after the lapse of
some years, to recognize the discovery. Thus Kieser declared
it to be " certainly the vastest conception which vegetable
physiology had for a long time known." Voigt expressed his
irritation at the blindness of the botanists in refusing to
accept it. Nees von Esenbeck, one of the greatest names in
the science, wrote, in 18 18, " Theophrastus is the creator of
modem botany. Goethe is its tender father, to whom it will
raise looks full of love and gratitude, as soon as it grows out of
its infancy, and acquires the sentiment which it owes to him
who has raised it to so high a position." And Sprengel, in
his History of Botany, frequently mentions the theory. In one

* AUGUSTE St. Hilaire, Comptes Refidus des Stances de PAcad.,
VII. 437. See also his work Morphologie V^g/taJe, Vol. I. p. I5-

t I have only been ahle to procure this latter work, which is a more
popular and excursive exposition of the principles maintained in the
Inaugural Dissertation of 1759.

28o ^^^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book v.

place he says, '• The Metatnorphoses had a meaning so profound,
joined to such great simplicity, and was so fertile in conse-
quences, that we must not be surprised if it stood in need of
multiplied commentaries, and if many botanists failed to see
its importance." It is now, and has been for some years,
the custom to insert a chapter on Metamorphosis in every
work which pretends to a high scientific character.

He was not much hurt at the reception of his work. He
knew how unwilling men are to accord praise to any one who
aims at success in different spheres, and found it perfectly
natural they should be so unwilling j adding, however, that
" an energetic nature feels itself brought into the world for
its own developmetity and not for the approbation of the public''

Side by side with botanical and anatomical studies must
be placed his optical studies. A more illustrative contrast
can scarcely be found than is afforded by the history of his
efforts in these two directions. They throw light upon sci-
entific Method, and they throw light pn his scientific quali-
ties and defects. If we have hitherto followed him with
sympathy and admiration, we must now be prepared to fol-
low him with that feeling of pain which rises at the sight of a
great intellect struggling m a false direction. His botanical
and anatomical studies were of that high character which
makes one angry at their cold reception ; his optical studies
were of a kind to puzzle and to irritate the professional public.

He has written the history of these studies also. From
youth upwards he had been prone to theprize on painting,
led thereto, as he profoundly remarks, by the very absence
of a talent for painting. It was not necessary for him to the-
orize on poetry ; he had within him the creative power. It
wc^ necessary for him to theorize on painting, because he
wanted " by reason and insight to fill up the deficiencies of
nature." In Italy these theories found abundant stimulus.

1788.] THE FOET AS A MAN OF SCIENCE. 28 1

With his painter friends he discussed color and coloring,
trying by various paradoxes to strike out a truth. The
friends were all deplorably vague in their notions of color.
The critical treatises were equally vague. Nowhere could .
he find firm ground. He began to think of the matter from
the opposite side, — instead of trying to solve the artists'
problem, he strove to solve the scientific problem. He
asked himself, What is color ? Men of science referred him
to Newton ; but Newton gave him little help. Professor
Biittner lent him some prisms and optical instruments, to
try the prescribed experiments. He kept the prisms a long
while, but made no use of them. Biittner wrote to him for
his instruments ; Goethe neither sent them back, nor set to
work with them. He delayed firom day to day, occupied with
other things. At last Biittner became uneasy, and sent for
the prisms, saying they should be lent again at a fiiture pe-
riod, but that at any rate he must have them returned.
Forced thus to part with them, yet unwilling to send them
back without making one effort, he told the messenger to
wait, and taking up a prism, looked through it at the white
wall of his room, expecting to see the whole wall colored in
various tints, according to the Newtonian statement. To his
astonishment, he saw nothing of the kind. He saw that the
wall remained as white as before, and that only there, where
an opaque interfered, could a more or less decisive color be
observed ; that the window-frames were most colored, while
the light gray heaven without showed no trace of color.
"It needed very little meditation to discover that to pro-
duce color a litnH was necessary, and instinctively I ex-
claimed, ' Newton's theory is false ! ' " There could be no
thought of sending back the prisms at such a juncture ; so he
wrote to Biittner begging for a longer loan, and set to work
in real earnest.

282 '^^^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book v.

This was an unhappy commencement. He began with a
false conception of Newton's theory, and thought he was
overthrowing Newton when, in fact, he was combating his
. own error. The Newtonian theory does not say that a white
surface seen through a prism appears colored, but that it
appears white, its edges only colored. The fancied discov-
ery of Newton's error stung him like a gadfly. He multi-
plied experiments, turned the subject incessantly over in his
mind, and instead of going the simple way to work, and learn-
ing the a, b, c, of the science, tried the very longest of all
short cuts, namely, experiment on insufl&cient knowledge.
He made a white disk on a black ground, and this, seen
through the prism, gave him the spectrum, as in the New-
tonian theory; but he found that a black disk on a white
ground also produced the same effect. " * If Light,' said I
to myself, 'resolves itself into various colors in the first
case, then must Darkness also resolve itself into various
colors in this second case.'" And thus he came to the
conclusion that Color is not contained in Light, but is the
product of an intermingling of Light and Darkness.

" Having no experience in such matters, and not knowing
the direction I ought to take, I addressed myself to a Physi-
cist of repute, begging him to verify the results I had arrived
at I had already told him my doubts of the Newtonian
hypothesis, and hoped to see him at once share my convic-
tion. But how great was my surprise when he assured me
that the phenomenon I spoke of was already known, and
perfectly explained by the Newtonian theory. In vain I
protested and combated his arguments ; he held stolidly to
the credo^ and told me to repeat my experiments in a camera
obscuraJ*

Instead of quieting him, this rebuff only turned him away
from all Physicists, that is, from all men who had special

1788.] THE POET AS A MAN OF SCIENCE. 283

knowledge on the subject, and made him pursue in silence
his own path. Friends were amused and interested by his
experiments ; their ignorance made them ready adepts. The
Duchess Luise showed especial interest ; and to her he after-
wards dedicated his Farbenkhre. The Duke also shared the
enthusiasm. The Duke of Gotha placed at his disposal a
magnificent laboratory. Prince August sent him splendid
prisms from England. Princes and poetasters believed he
was going to dethrone Newton ; men of science only laughed
at his pretension, and would not pay his theory the honor
of a refutation. One fact he records as very noticeable,
namely, that he could count Anatomists, Chemists, Littera-
teurs, and Philosophers, such as Loder, Sommering, Gottling,
Wolff, Forster, Schelling (and, subsequently, Hegel), among
his adherents; but not one Physicist Nor does he, in
recording this fact, see that it is destructive of his preten-
sions.

What claim had Anatomists, Litterateurs, and Philosphers
to be heard in such a controversy ? Who would listen to a
mathematician appealing to the testimony of zoologists
against the whole body of mathematicians past and present ?
There is this much, however, to be said for Goethe : he had
already experienced neglect from professional authorities
when he discovered the intermaxillary bone, and when, in
the Metamorphoses of Plants^ he laid before them a real dis-
covery, the truth of which he profoundly felt. He was pre-
pared therefore for a similar disregard of his claims when he
not only produced a new theory, but attacked the highest
scientific authority. He considered that Newtonians looked
on him as a natural enemy. He thought them steadfastly
bent on maintaining established prejudice. He thought they
were a guild united against all innovation by common inter-
est and common ignorance. Their opposition never made

284 '^^^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book v.

him pause ; their arguments never made him swerve. He
thought them profoundly in error when they imagined optics
to be a part of mathematics ; and as he did not understand
mathematics, he could not appreciate their arguments.

His Beitrdge zur Optik^ which appeared in 17 91, was a
sort of feeler thrown out to the great public. The public was
utterly unsympathizing. The ignorant had no interest in
such matters, and certainly would not address themselves to
a poet for instruction ; the physicists saw that he was wrong.
" Everywhere," he says, " I found incredulity as to my com-
petence in such a matter \ everywhere a sort of repulsion at
my efforts ; and the more learned and well informed the men
were, the more decided was their opposition."

For years and years he continued his researches with a pa-
tience worthy of admiration. Opposition moved him not ; it
rather helped to increase his obstinacy. It extorted from him
expressions of irritability and polemical bad taste, which as-
tound us in one elsewhere so calm and tolerant. Perhaps, as
Canon Kingsley once suggested to me, he had a vague feeling
that his conclusions were not sound, and felt the jealousy
incident to imperfect conviction. Where his conviction was
perfect, he was calm. The neglect of his Metamorphoses,
the denial of his discovery of the intermaxillary bone, the
indifference with which his essays on Comparative Anatomy
were treated, — all this he bore with philosophic serenity.
But on the Farhenlehre he was always sensitive, and in old
age ludicrously so. Eckermann records a curious conversa-
tion, wherein he brings forward a fact he has observed, which
contradicts the theory of colors ; and Goethe not only grows
angry, but refuses to admit the fact. In this matter of Color
he showed himself morally weak, as well as intellectually
weak. " As for what I have done as a poet," said the old
man once, ** I take no pride in it whatever. Excellent poets

1788.] THE POET AS A MAN OF SCIENCE, 285

have lived at the same time with myself; more excellent
poets have lived before me, and will come after me. But that
in my century I am the only person who knows the truth in
the difficult science of colors — of that, I say, I am not a
little proud."

The reader will doubtless be curious to know something of
this Theory of Colors ; and although it must necessarily ap-
pear greatly to its disadvantage in the brief abstract for which
alone I can find space, an abstract without the numerous
illustrations and experiments which give the theory a plausible
aspect, yet the kernel of the matter will appear.

The Newtonian theory is that white light is composed of
the seven prismatic colors, i. e. rays having different degrees
of refrangibility. Goethe says it is not composed at all, but
is the simplest and most homogeneous thing we know.* It
is absurd to call it composed of colors^ for every light which
has taken a color is darker than colorless light. Brightness
cannot therefore be a compound of darkness. There are but
two pure colors, blue and yeilo7v, both of which have a ten-
dency to become red, through violet and orange ; there are also
two mixtures, green and purple. Every other color is a degree
of one of these, or is impure. Colors originate in the modifi-
cation of Light by outward circumstances. They are not
developed out of Light, but by it. For the phenomenon of
Color, there is demanded Light and Darkness. Nearest the
Light appears a color we Vi2Lm^ yellow ; nearest the Darkness,
a color we name blue. Mix these two and you have green.

Starting from the fundamental error of the simplicity of

* " Let us thank the gods," exclaims Schelling, " that they have
emancipated us from the Newtonian spectrum {spectrum truly /) of com-
posed light. We owe this to the genius to whom our debt is already so
large." — Zeitschrift fur spekul. Philos., II. p. 60. To the same effect
Hegel in his Encyklopadie der philos. Wissenschaften,

286 ^^^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE, [book v.

Light, Goethe undertakes to explain all the phenomena of
Color, by means of what he calls the Opaques, — the media.
He maintains that on the one hand there is Light, and on the
other Darkness ; if a semi-transparent medium be brought
between the two, from these contrasts and this medium,
Colors are developed, contrasted in like manner, but soon
through a reciprocal relation tending to a point of reunion.

The highest degree of Light seen through a medium very
slightly thickened appears yellow. If the density of the
medium be increased, or if its volume become greater, the
light will gradually assume a yellow-red^ which deepens at last
to a ruby.

The highest degree of Darkness seen through a semi-trans-
parent medium, which is itself illuminated by a light striking
on it, gives a blue color ; which becomes paler as the density
of the medium is increased ; but on the contrary becomes
darker and deeper as the medium becomes more transparent.
In the least degree of dimness short of absolute transparency,
the deep blue becomes the most beautiful violet.

There are many interesting facts adduced in illustration.
Thus smoke appears yellow or red before a light ground,
blue before a dark ground ; the blue color, at the under part
of a candle-flame, is also a case of blue seen opposite a dark
ground. Light transmitted through the air is yellow, orange,
or red, according to the density of the air ; Darkness trans-
mitted through the air is blue, as is the case of the sky, or
distant mountains.

He tells a curious anecdote in illustration of this blueness
of darkness. A painter had an old portrait of a theologian
to clean ; the wet sponge passing over the black velvet dress,
suddenly changed it to a light blue plush. Puzzled at this
truly remarkable phenomenon, and not understanding how
light blue could be the ground of deep black, he was in great

1788.] THE POET AS A MAN OF SCIENCE, 287

grief at the thought of having thus ruined the picture. The
next morning, to his joy, he found the black velvet had re-
sumed its pristine splendor. To satisfy his curiosity, he could
not refrain from wetting a corner once more, and again he
saw the blue appear. Goethe was informed of the phenom-
enon, which was once more produced, in his presence. " I
explained it," he says, " by my doctrine of the semi-opaque
medium. The original painter, in order to give additional
depth to his black, may have passed some particular varnish
over it ; on being washed, this varnish imbibed some moisture,
and hence became semi-opaque, in consequence of which the
black beneath immediately appeared blueJ" The explanation
is very ingenious ; nor does the Edinburgh reviewer's answer
seem to meet the question, when he says : * "As there is no
gum or resin, or varnish of any kind that possesses the prop-
erty of yielding blue or any other color by being wetted, we
have no doubt the varnish had been worn off, or else the
picture never had been varnished." It is not a question of
wetted varnish yielding blue, but of wetted varnish furnishing
the medium through which black appears blue. The reviewer's
explanation, however, is probably correct. He assumes that
there was no varnish, and that the particles of bodies which
produce blackness, on the usual theory, are smaller than those
which produce blue or any other color ; and if we increase
the size of the particles which produce blackness by the
smallest quantity, they yield the blue color described by
Goethe. The action of the water swelled them a little, and
thus gave them the size which fitted them to reflect blue rays.
The theory loses much of its seductive plausibility when
thus reduced to its simplest expression. Let us, however, do
the same for the Newtonian theory, and then estimate their
comparative value. Newton assumes that white Light is a

* Edin. Rev., October, 1840, p. 117.

288 ^^^ STORY OF GOETHE^S LIFE. [book v.

compound ; and he proves this assumption by decomposing
a beam of light into its elements. These elements are rays,
having different degrees of refrangibility, separable from each
other by different media. Each ray produces its individual
color. Not only will the beam of white Light in passing
through a prism be separated into its constituent rays, or
colors, but these rays may be again collected by a large lens,
and, in being thus brought together, again reappear as white
Light There are few theories in science which present a
more satisfactory union of logic and experiment.

It cannot be denied that Goethe's theory is also extremely
plausible ; and he has supported it with so many accurate
experiments and admirable observations, that to this day it
has not only found ardent advocates, even among men of
science, though these are few, but has very sorely perplexed
many Newtonians, who, relying on the mathematical accuracy
of their own theor}', have contemptuously dismissed Goethe's
speculation instead of victoriously refuting it. His obstinacy
was excusable, since believing himself to be in the right he
challenged refutation, and no one picked up his gauntlet.
They declined in contempt, which he interpreted as bigotry.
He tried to get the French Academy to make a report on his
work. This honor was withheld : Cuvier disdainfully declaring
that such work was not one to occupy an Academy ; Delambre
answering all solicitations with this phrase : " Des observa-
tions, des experiences, et surtout ne commen^ons pas par
attaquer Newton." As if the Farbenlehre were not founded
on observations and experiments ! as if the glory of Newton
were to stand inviolate before all things ! Goethe might well
resent such treatment. If he was wrong in his theory, if his
experiments were incomplete, why were these errors not
pointed out ? To contradict Newton might offer a presump-
tion against the theory; but Newtonians were called upon

1788.] THE POET AS A MAN OF SCIENCE. 289

not to explain the contradiction between Goethe and Newton,
which was vociferously announced, but the contradiction be-
tween Goethe and Truth, which they contemptuously asserted.
As this is a branch of science in which I can pretend to
no competence, and as I have met with no decisive refutation
of Goethe which can be quoted here, I should consider it
sufficient to say that the fact of the vast majority of physicists
in Europe refusing to pay any attention to the Farbenkhre^
although not in itself more than a presumption against that
theory, is nevertheless a presumption so very strong as only
to be set aside by stringently coercive evidence. Looking at
the Farbenlehre from the impartial, if imperfect, point of view
of an outsider, I should say that not only has Goethe mani-
festly misunderstood Newton, but has presented a theory
which is based on a radical mistake. The mistake is that of
treating Darkness as a positive quality, rather than as a
simple negation of Light. By means of this Darkness, as
a co-operating agent with Light, colors are said to arise.
Stripped of all the - ambiguities of language, the theory
affirms that Light is itself perfectly colorless until mingled
with various degrees of Nothing, or, in other words, until it
suffers various diminutions; and with each diminution the
colors become of a deeper hue. This may seem too prepos-
terous for belief; yet what is Darkness but the negation of
Light ? It is true that Goethe has in one place named Dark-
ness, in the abstract, a pure negation ; but it is not less true
that in the construction of his theory. Darkness plays the
part of a positive, and necessarily so ; for if we once con-
ceive it as a simple negative, the theory falls to the ground.
Light being assumed as colorless, no diminution of the
colorless can give colors. Unless Darkness be positive, — co-
operative, — we are left to seek the elements of color in Light ;
and this is precisely where the Newtonian theory finds it.
^13 s

288 '^HE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE, [book v.

compound ; and he proves this assumption by decomposing
a beam of light into its elements. These elements are rays,
having different degrees of refrangibility, separable from each
other by different media. Each ray produces its individual
color. Not only will the beam of white Light in passing
through a prism be separated into its constituent rays, or
colors, but these rays may be again collected by a large lens,
and, in being thus brought together, again reappear as white
Light There are few theories in science which present a
more satisfactory union of logic and experiment.

It cannot be denied that Goethe's theory is also extremely
plausible ; and he has supported it with so many accurate
experiments and admirable observations, that to this day it
has not only found ardent advocates, even among men of
science, though these are few, but has very sorely perplexed
many Newtonians, who, relying on the mathematical accuracy
of their own theor}^ have contemptuously dismissed Goethe's
speculation instead of victoriously refuting it. His obstinacy
was excusable, since believing himself to be in the right he
challenged refutation, and no one picked up his gauntlet.
They declined in contempt, which he interpreted as bigotry.
He tried to get the French Academy to make a report on his
work. This honor was withheld : Cuvier disdainfully declaring
that such work was not one to occupy an Academy ; Delambre
answering all solicitations with this phrase : " Des observa-
tions, des experiences, et surtout ne commen^ons pas par
attaquer Newton." As if the Farbenlehre were not founded
on observations and experiments ! as if the glory of Newton
were to stand inviolate before all things ! Goethe might well
resent such treatment. If he was wrong in his theory, if his
experiments were incomplete, why were these errors not
pointed out ? To contradict Newton might offer a presump-
tion against the theory; but Newtonians were called upon

1788.] THE POET AS A MAN OF SCIENCE, 289

not to explain the contradiction between Goethe and Newton,
which was vociferously announced, but the contradiction be-
tween Goethe and Truth, which they contemptuously asserted.
As this is a branch of science in which I can pretend to
no competence, and as I have met with no decisive refutation
of Goethe which can be quoted here, I should consider it
sufficient to say that the fact of the vast majority of physicists
in Europe refusing to pay any attention to the Farbenlehre,
although not in itself more than a presumption against that
theory, is nevertheless a presumption so very strong as only
to be set aside by stringently coercive evidence. Looking at
the Farbmlehre from the impartial, if imperfect, point of view
of an outsider, I should say that not only has Goethe mani-
festly misunderstood Newton, but has presented a theory
which is based on a radical mistake. The mistake is that of
treating Darkness as a positive quality, rather than as a
simple negation of Light. By means of this Darkness, as
a co-operating agent with Light, colors are said to arise.
Stripped of all the - ambiguities of language, the theory
affirms that Light is itself perfectly colorless until mingled
with various degrees of Nothing, or, in other words, until it
suffers various diminutions; and with each diminution the
colors become of a deeper hue. This may seem too prepos-
terous for belief; yet what is Darkness but the negation of
Light t It is true that Goethe has in one place named Dark-
ness, in the abstract, a pure negation ; but it is not less true
that in the construction of his theory, Darkness plays the
part of a positive, and necessarily so; for if we once con-
ceive it as a simple negative, the theory falls to the ground.
Light being assumed as colorless, no diminution of the
colorless can give colors. Unless Darkness be positive, — co-
operative, — we are left to seek the elements of color in Light ;
and this is precisely where the Newtonian theory finds it.
- 13 s

288 ^^^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book v.

compound ; and he proves this assumption by decomposing
a beam of light into its elements. These elements are rays,
having different degrees of refrangibility, separable from each
other by different media. Each ray produces its individual
color. Not only will the beam of white Light in passing
through a prism be separated into its constituent rays, or
colors, but these rays may be again collected by a large lens,
and, in being thus brought together, again reappear as white
Light There are few theories in science which present a
more satisfactory union of logic and experiment.

It cannot be denied that Goethe's theory is also extremely
plausible ; and he has supported it with so many accurate
experiments and admirable observations, that to this day it
has not only found ardent advocates, even among men of
science, though these are few, but has very sorely perplexed
many Newtonians, who, relying on the mathematical accuracy
of their own theory, have contemptuously dismissed Goethe's
speculation instead of victoriously refuting it. His obstinacy
was excusable, since believing himself to be in the right he
challenged refutation, and no one picked up his gauntlet.
They declined in contempt, which he interpreted as bigotry.
He tried to get the French Academy to make a report on his
work. This honor was withheld : Cuvier disdainfully declaring
that such work was not one to occupy an Academy ; Delambre
answering all solicitations with this phrase : " Des observa-
tions, des experiences, et surtout ne commen^ons pas par
attaquer Newton." As if the Farbenlehre were not founded
on observations and experiments ! as if the glory of Newton
were to stand inviolate before all things ! Goethe might well
resent such treatment. If he was wrong in his theory, if his
experiments were incomplete, why were these errors not
pointed out ? To contradict Newton might offer a presump-
tion against the theory; but Newtonians were called upon

1788.] THE POET AS A MAN OF SCIENCE, 289

not to explain the contradiction between Goethe and Newton,
which was vociferously announced, but the contradiction be-
tween Goethe and Truth, which they contemptuously asserted.
As this is a branch of science in which I can pretend to
no competence, and as I have met with no decisive refutation
of Goethe which can be quoted here, I should consider it
sufficient to say that the fact of the vast majority of physicists
in Europe refusing to pay any attention to the Farbenlehre,
although not in itself more than a presumption against that
theory, is nevertheless a presumption so very strong as only
to be set aside by stringently coercive evidence. Looking at
the Farbenlehre from the impartial, if imperfect, point of view
of an outsider, I should say that not only has Goethe mani-
festly misunderstood Newton, but has presented a theory
which is based on a radical mistake. The mistake is that of
treating Darkness as a positive quality, rather than as a
simple negation of Light By means of this Darkness, as
a co-operating agent with Light, colors are said to arise.
Stripped of all the - ambiguities of language, the theory
affirms that Light is itself perfectly colorless until mingled
with various degrees of Nothing, or, in other words, until it
suffers various diminutions ; and with each diminution the
colors become of a deeper hue. This may seem too prepos-
terous for belief; yet what is Darkness but the negation of
Light ? It is true that Goethe has in one place named Dark-
ness, in the abstract, a pure negation ; but it is not less true
that in the construction of his theory, Darkness plays the
part of a positive, and necessarily so; for if we once con-
ceive it as a simple negative, the theory falls to the ground.
Light being assumed as colorless, no diminution of the
colorless can give colors. Unless Darkness be positive, — co-
operative, — we are left to seek the elements of color in Light ;
and this is precisely where the Newtonian theory finds it
^13 s

288 ^^^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book v.

compound ; and he proves this assumption by decomposing
a beam of light into its elements. These elements are rays,
having different degrees of refrangibility, separable from each
other by different media. Each ray produces its individual
color. Not only will the beam of white Light in passing
through a prism be separated into its constituent rays, or
colors, but these rays may be again collected by a large lens,
and, in being thus brought together, again reappear as white
Light There are few theories in science which present a
more satisfactory union of logic and experiment.

It cannot be denied that Goethe's theory is also extremely
plausible ; and he has supported it with so many accurate
experiments and admirable observations, that to this day it
has not only found ardent advocates, even among men of
science, though these are few, but has very sorely perplexed
many Newtonians, who, relying on the mathematical accuracy
of their own theory, have contemptuously dismissed Goethe's
speculation instead of victoriously refuting it. His obstinacy
was excusable, since believing himself to be in the right he
challenged refutation, and no one picked up his gauntlet.
They declined in contempt, which he interpreted as bigotry.
He tried to get the French Academy to make a report on his
work. This honor was withheld : Cuvier disdainfully declaring
that such work was not one to occupy an Academy ; Delambre
answering all solicitations with this phrase : " Des observa-
tions, des experiences, et surtout ne commen^ons pas par
attaquer Newton." As if the Farbenlehre were not founded
on observations and experiments ! as if the glory of Newton
were to stand inviolate before all things ! Goethe might well
resent such treatment. If he was wrong in his theory, if his
experiments were incomplete, why were these errors not
pointed out? To contradict Newton might offer a presump-
tion against the theory; but Newtonians were called upon

1788.] THE POET AS A MAN OF SCIENCE, 289

not to explain the contradiction between Goethe and Newton,
which was vociferously announced, but the contradiction be-
tween Goethe and Truth, which they contemptuously asserted.
As this is a branch of science in which I can pretend to
no competence, and as I have met with no decisive refutation
of Goethe which can be quoted here, I should consider it
sufficient to say that the fact of the vast majority of physicists
in Europe refusing to pay any attention to the Farbenlehre^
although not in itself more than a presumption against that
theory, is nevertheless a presumption so very strong as only
to be set aside by stringently coercive evidence. Looking at
the Farbenlehre from the impartial, if imperfect, point of view
of an outsider, I should say that not only has Goethe mani-
festly misunderstood Newton, but has presented a theory
which is based on a radical mistake. The mistake is that of
treating Darkness as a positive quality, rather than as a
simple negation of Light By means of this Darkness, as
a co-operating agent with Light, colors are said to arise.
Stripped of all the * ambiguities of language, the theory
affirms that Light is itself perfectly colorless until mingled
with various degrees of Nothing, or, in other words, until it
suffers various diminutions; and with each diminution the
colors become of a deeper hue. This may seem too prepos-
terous for belief; yet what is Darkness but the negation of
Light ? It is true that Goethe has in one place named Dark-
ness, in the abstract, a pure negation ; but it is not less true
that in the construction of his theory. Darkness plays the
part of a positive, and necessarily so; for if we once con-
ceive it as a simple negative, the theory falls to the ground.
Light being assumed as colorless, no diminution of the
colorless can give colors. Unless Darkness be positive, — co-
operative, — we are left to seek the elements of color in Light ;
and this is precisely where the Newtonian theory finds it
^13 s

288 '^HE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book v.

compound ; and he proves this assumption by decomposing
a beam of light into its elements. These elements are rays,
having different degrees of refrangibility, separable from each
other by different media. Each ray produces its individual
color. Not only will the beam of white Light in passing
through a prism be separated into its constituent rays, or
colors, but these rays may be again collected by a large lens,
and, in being thus brought together, again reappear as white
Light There are few theories in science which present a
more satisfactory union of logic and experiment.

It cannot be denied that Goethe's theory is also extremely
plausible ; and he has supported it with so many accurate
experiments and admirable observations, that to this day it
has not only found ardent advocates, even among men of
science, though these are few, but has very sorely perplexed
many Newtonians, who, relying on the mathematical accuracy
of their own theory, have contemptuously dismissed Goethe's
speculation instead of victoriously refuting it. His obstinacy
was excusable, since believing himself to be in the right he
challenged refutation, and no one picked up his gauntlet.
They declined in contempt, which he interpreted as bigotry.
He tried to get the French Academy to make a report on his
work. This honor was withheld : Cuvier disdainfully declaring
that such work was not one to occupy an Academy ; Delambre
answering all solicitations with this phrase : " Des observa-
tions, des experiences, et surtout ne commen^ons pas par
attaquer Newton." As if the Farbenlehre were not founded
on observations and experiments ! as if the glory of Newton
were to stand inviolate before all things ! Goethe might well
resent such treatment. If he was wrong in his theory, if his
experiments were incomplete, why were these errors not
pointed out ? To contradict Newton might offer a presump-
tion against the theory; but Newtonians were called upon

1788.] THE POET AS A MAN OF SCIENCE, 289

not to explain the contradiction between Goethe and Newton,
which was vociferously announced, but the contradiction be-
tween Goethe and Truth, which they contemptuously asserted.
As this is a branch of science in which I can pretend to
no competence, and as I have met with no decisive refutation
of Goethe which can be quoted here, I should consider it
sufficient to say that the fact of the vast majority of physicists
in Europe refusing to pay any attention to the FarbenlehrCy
although not in itself more than a presumption against that
theory, is nevertheless a presumption so very strong as only
to be set aside by stringently coercive evidence. Looking at
the Farbenlehre from the impartial, if imperfect, point of view
of an outsider, I should say that not only has Goethe mani-
festly misunderstood Newton, but has presented a theory
which is based on a radical mistake. The mistake is that of
treating Darkness as a positive quality, rather than as a
simple negation of Light By means of this Darkness, as
a co-operating agent with Light, colors are said to arise.
Stripped of all the - ambiguities of language, the theory
affirms that Light is itself perfectly colorless until mingled
with various degrees of Nothing, or, in other words, until it
suffers various diminutions; and with each diminution the
colors become of a deeper hue. This may seem too prepos-
terous for belief; yet what is Darkness but the negation of
Light ? It is true that Goethe has in one place named Dark-
ness, in the abstract, a pure negation ; but it is not less true
that in the construction of his theory, Darkness plays the
part of a positive, and necessarily so; for if we once con-
ceive it as a simple negative, the theory falls to the ground.
Light being assumed as colorless, no diminution of the
colorless can give colors. Unless Darkness be positive, — co-
operative, — we are left to seek the elements of color in Light ;
and this is precisely where the Newtonian theory finds it.
^13 s

290 '^^^ STORY OF GOETHFPS LIFE. [book v.

It was an old idea that the different confines of shadow
variously modify light, producing various colors. This New-
ton has elaborately refuted {Optics, Part II. Book I.), proving
by simple experiments that all colors show themselves
indifferently in the confines of shadow ; and that when rays
which differ in refrangibility are separated from one another,
and any one is considered apart, "the color of the light
which it composes cannot be changed by any refraction or
reflection whatever, as it ought to be were colors nothing else
than modifications of light caused by refractions, reflections,
and shadows."

It should be emphatically stated that the highest ph)rsical
authorities have borne testimony to the accuracy of Goethe's
facts ; and as these facts are exceedingly numerous, and oflen
highly important, the value of his optical studies must be
estimated as considerable. He was a man of genius, and he
labored with the passionate patience of genius. But in
awarding our admiration to the man, we may withhold assent
from his theory. That which has exasperated men of science,
and caused them to speak slightingly of his labors, is the
bitterly polemical tone of contempt with which he announced
a discovery which they could not recognize as true. He was
aggressive and weak. He vociferated that Newton was in
error ; and a casual glance at his supposed detection of the
error discovered a fundamental misconception. If we stand
aloof from these heats of personal conflict, and regard the
subject with a calmer eye, we shall see that the question
simply reduces itself to this : which of the two theories offers
the fullest and clearest explanation of the facts ?

Light and Colors are, like Sound and Tones, to be viewed
as objective phenomena, related to certain external con-
ditions ; or as subjective phenomena, related to certain
sensations. Before asking. What is Light or Sound ? we must

1788.] THE POET AS A MAN OF SCIENCE, 29I

consider whether we seek the objective fact, or the subjective
sensation. Every one admits that, apart from a sensitive
organism, the objective phenomena of Light and Sound exist,
although not as the Light and Sound known in our sensations.
But as we can only know them through our sensations, it
seems eminently philosophical to begin our study with these.
And this Goethe has done. He first unfolds the laws of
physiological colors, i. e. the modifications of the retina; and
his immense . services in this direction have been cordially
recognized by Physiologists. Since, however, we can never
learn thus what are the external conditions of the phenomena,
we have to seek in objective facts such an explanation as will
best guide us. The assumption of rays having different
degrees of refrangibility may one day turn out to be erro-
neous; but it is an assumption which colligates the facts
better than any other hitherto propounded, and therefore it is
accepted. By regarding both Sound and Light as produced
from waves of an elastic medium, acoustic and optic phenomena
are reducible to calculation. It is true they thus incur Goethe's
reproach of ceasing to be concrete objects to the mind, and
becoming inathematical symbols ; but this is the very ambi-
tion of scientific research : a point to which I shall presently
return. Let us compare the objective and subjective facts.

If an elastic rod be made to vibrate, the ear perceives
nothing until the vibrations reach sixteen in a second, at
which point the lowest tone becomes audible ; if the rapidity
of the vibrations be now constantly accelerated, tones higher
and higher in the scale become audible, till the vibrations
reach thirty-two thousand in a second, at which point the ear
again fails to detect any sound. In like manner, it is calcu-
lated that when vibrations reach four hundred and eighty-three
billions in a second, Light, or rather the red ray, begins to
manifest itself to the retina ; with increasing rapidity of vibra-

292 THE STORY OF GOETHES LIFE. [book v.

tion, the colors pass into orange, yellow, green, blue, and
violet, till seven hundred and twenty-seven billions are
reached, at which point no light is perceptible. Here
chemical action begins; and the rays are called chemical
rays ; as at the other end of the spectrum they are called
heat rays. These are objective conditions which have been
rigorously ascertained; and most important results have
been arrived at through thenu

The subjective facts according to Goethe lead to the
belief that Tones are the product of Sound and Silence, as
Colors are of Light and Darkness. Sound is made various
(in tones) by various intermixtures with Silence. Descending
from the highest audible note there is a gradual retardation
of the vibrations, caused by the gradual encroachments of
Silence, until at length Silence predominates and no Sound is
heard. Suppose this hypothesis granted, we shall still have
to ask what are the conditions of this Silence t If these are
retardations of vibration, we m^ dispense with the hypothet-
ical Silence. By similar reasoning we dispense with the
hypothetical Darkness.

The assumption of different rays of unequal refrangibility
is not only supported by the prismatic decomposition and
recomposition of light, but also finds confirmation in the law
of Refraction discovered by Snellius. And the consequence
drawn from it, namely, that the relation of the sine of inci-
dence, though constant for each color, varies in the different
colors of the spectrum, brings the whole question within the
domain of mathematical calculation. The phenomena cease
to be qualitative only, and become quantitative: they are
measureable, and are measured. On Goethe's theory, grant-
ing its truth, the phenomena are not measurable; and
whoever glances into a modem work on Optics will see that
the precision and extent to which calculation has been carried,

1788.] THE POET AS A MAN OF SCIENCE, 293

are in themselves sufficient grounds for assigning the prefer-
ence to the theory which admits such calculation.

Goethe's want of acquaintance with Mathematics and with
the Methods of Physical Science prevented his understand-
ing the defect in his own theory, and the manifest superior-
ity of the theory which he attacked. He opposed every
mathematical treatment of the subject as mischievous j and
Hegel, who has shown himself still more opposed to the
Methods of science, applauds him on this very point.

" I raised the whole school of Mathematicians against me,**
says Goethe, " and people were greatly amazed that one who
had no insight into Mathematics could venture to contradict
Newton. For that Physics could exist independently of Mathe-
matics no one seemed to have the slightest stispicion^ Nor has
that suspicion gained yet any ground with men in the least
conversant with Physics, however necessary it may sometimes
have been to protest against too exclusive an employment of
Mathematics. But the misconception which lies at the bot-
tom of Goethe's polemics was a very natural one to a poet
never trained in Mathematical or Experimental science, and
unaware of the peculiar position occupied by Mathematics as
the great Instrument of research. In his essay Ueber Mathe-
matik und deren Misshrauch^ he compares the philosopher
employing such an instrument to a man who should invent a
machine for drawing a cork, an operation which two arms and
hands very easily effect.

To make his error intelligible, let us suppose a man of great
intellectual acuteness and energy suddenly to light upon the
idea that our chemical theories were vitiated by a false basis,
— that the atomic theory was not only an hypothesis, but an
hypothesis which niisrepresented the order of Nature ; there
being, in truth, none of the quantitative relations presupposed

* Werke, XL. p. 468.

294 '^^^ STORY OF GOETHKS LIFE, [book v.

in that theory. Imagine the reformer setting to work, multi-
plying experiments, inventing explanations, disregarding all
that the accumulated experience of ages had stored up on this
very matter, and above all despising, as useless or worse, the
very Instrument which rescues Chemistry from rough guess-
work, and elevates it into the possibility of a science, — the
Instrument known as the Balance. It is probable that our
reformer would make many curious observations, some of them
quite new. It is probable that he would in many directions
stimulate research. But it is certain that he would be hope-
lessly wrong in his theories, for he would necessarily be im-
perfect in his data. Without the delicate control of the Bal-
ance, chemical experiment can never become quantitative;
and without quantitative knowledge there can be no chemical
science strictly so called, but only qualitative^ i. e. approxima-
tive knowledge. No amount of observation will render
observation precise, unless it can be measured. No force of
intellect will supply the place of an Instrument. You may
watch falling bodies for an eternity, but without Mathematics
mere watching will yield no law of gravitation. You may mix
acids and alkalis together with prodigality, but no amount of
experiment will yield the secret of their composition, if you
have flung away the Balance.

Goethe flung away the Balance. Hegel boldly says this
is Goethe's merit. He praises the " pure sense of Nature,"
which in the poet rebelled against Newton's " barbarism of
Reflection." To the same effect Schelling, who does not
hesitate to choose it as the very ground for proclaiming
Goethe's superiority over the Newtonians, that " instead of the
artificially confused and disfiguring experiments of the New-
tonians, he places the purest, simplest verdicts of Nature her-
self before us " ; he adds, " it is not surprising that the blind
and slavish followers of Newton should oppose researches

1788.] THE POET AS A MAN OF SCIENCE, 29S

which prove that precisely the very section of Physics, in
which up to this time they have imagined the most positive,
nay almost geometric evidence, to be on their side, is based
on a fundamental error." *

This point of Method, if properly examined, will help to
elucidate the whole question of Goethe's aptitude for dealing
with physical science. The native direction of his mind is
visible in his optical studies as decisively as in his poetry ; that
direction was towards the concrete phenomenon, not towards
abstractions. He desired to explain the phenomena of color,
and in Mathematics these phenomena disappear ; that is to
say, the very thing to be studied is hurried out of sight and
masked by abstractions. This was utterly repugnant to his
mode of conceiving Nature. The marvellous phenomena of
polarized light in the hands of Mathematicians excited his
boundless scorn. " One knows not," he says, " whether a
body or a mere ruin lies buried under those formulas." t The
name of Biot threw him into a rage ; and he was continually
laughing at the Newtonians about their prisms and Spectra,
as if Newtonians were pedants who preferred their dusky
rooms to the free breath of heaven. He always spoke of
observations made in his garden, or with a simple prism in
the sunlight, as if the natural and simple Method were much
more certain than the artificial Method of Science. In this
he betrayed his misapprehension of Method. He thought
that Nature revealed herself to the patient observer —

** Und was sie deinem Geist nicht offenbaren mag,
Das zwingst du ihr nicht ab mit Hebeln und mit Schrauben."

"And what she does not reveal to the Mind will not be
extorted from her by Levers and Screws." Hence his fail-

* SCHELLING, Zeitschrifi fiir spekidative Philos^y 11. p. 60.

296 '^^^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE, [book v.

ure ; hence also his success : for we must not forget that if as
a contribution to Optics his Farbenlehre be questionable, as a
contribution to the knowledge of color demanded by Artists
it is very valuable. Painters have repeatedly acknowledged
the advantage they have derived from it ; and I remember
hearing Riedel, at Rome, express the most unbounded
enthusiasm for it ; averring that, as a colorist, he had learned
more from the Farbenlehre than from all the other teachers
and books he had ever known. To artists and physiolo-
gists — i. e. to those who are mainly concerned with the
phenomena of color as perceptions, and who demand quali-
tative rather than quantitative knowledge — his labors have
a high value ; and even physicists must admit, that however
erroneous the theory and imperfect the method he has adopt-
ed, still the immense accumulation and systematization of
facts, and the ingenuity with which he explains them, deserve
serious respect As Bacon felicitously says, a tortoise on
the right path will beat a racer on the wrong path ; and if it
be true that Goethe was on the wrong path, it is not less
true that he shows the thews and sinews of a racer.

It is with other feelings that we contemplate him laboring
in the organic sciences. There the native tendencies of his
mind and the acquired tendencies of education better fitted
him for success. Biology has peculiar fascinations for the
poetical mind, and has seduced several poets to become
physiologists. Mathematics are not required. Concrete
observations furnish the materials for a keen and compre-
hensive comparison.

Let it be distinctly understood, and that not on the testi-
mony of the admiring biographer, but on some of the highest
scientific testimonies in Europe,* that in the organic sciences

* In the first edition of this work several passages were quoted in sup-
port of the assertion in the text ; but one effect of this chapter has been

1788.] THE POET AS A MAN OF SCIENCE. 297

Goethe holds an eminent place, — eminent not because of
his rank as a poet, but in spite of it. Let it be understood
that in these sciences he is not to be treated as a poet, a
facile amateur, but as a thinker^ who, having mastered suffi-
cient knowledge to render his path secure, gave an impulse
to the minds of contemporaries and successors, which is not
even yet arrested.

We will glance at his achievements in this field. The in-
termaxillary bone * was long a bone of contention among
anatomists. Vesalius — one of the grandest and boldest of
the early pioneers who wrote against Galen, as the philosophers
wrote against Aristotle — declared, and with justice, that
Galen's anatomy was not founded on the dissection of the
human body, but on that of animals. A proof, said he, is that
" Galen indicates a separate bone connected with the maxil-
lary by sutures ; a bone which, as every anatomist can
satisfy himself, exists only in animals." The Galenists
were in arms. They could bring no fact in evidence, but
that was of very little consequence ; if facts were deficient,
was not hypothesis always ready? Sylvius, for example,

to render such evidence superfluous, Goethe's position in science becom-
ing daily more widely recognized. The following references are therefore
all that need now be given : AuGUSTE St. Hilaire, MorphologU Vigi-
tale, I. p. 15 ; OsCAR SCHMIDT, Goethe's Verhdltniss zu den organUchen
Wissenschaften, p. 10; JOHANNES MUELLER, Ueber phantastische
Gesichtserscheinungen, p. 104; CuviER, Histoire des Sciences Natu-
relies, IV. p. 316 ; Isidore Geoffroy St. Hilaire, Essais de Zoolo-
gieghUrale, p. 139; OWEN, Archetype and Homologies of the Skeleton,
p. 3 ; Helmholtz, Allgemeine Monatsschrift, May, 1853 ; Virchow,
Goethe als Naturforscher. The profound reach of Goethe's biological
conceptions has been well displayed by Mr. Darwin's brilliant disciple,
Haeckel, in his two works, Generelle MorphologU and NatUrliche
Schqpfungsgeschichte,

* It is the centre bone of the ili)per jaw, —that which contains the
incisor teeth.

X3»

j5^ THE STORY OF GOETffETS LIFE, [book v.

boldly said that man had formerly an intermaxillary bone. If
he has it no longer, he ought to have it. It is luxury, it is
sensuality which has gradually deprived man of this bone.*
(What has not luxuiy been made to answer for !) The dis-
pute was carried down through centuries, no one attempting
to demonstrate anatomically the existence of the bone.
Camper actually raised this presumed absence of the bone
into the one distinguishing mark separating man from the
ape j which is doubly unfortunate, for in the first place the
bone is not absent in man, and secondly, in as far as it can
be considered absent in man, it is equally absent in the
chimpanzee, the highest of the apes.t Thus was anatomy a
treacherous ally in this question, although Camper knew
not how treacherous.

This slight historical sketch will serve to show that the dis-
covery, if unimportant, was at least far from easy ; indeed so
little did it lie in the track of general knowledge, that it was
at first received with contemptuous disbelief, even by men so
eminent as Blumenbach,J and it was forty years gaining
general acceptance, although Loder, Spix, and Sommering at
once recognized it Camper, to whom Goethe sent the
manuscript, found that it was trh iiiganiy adtnirabUment bien
icrit, dest i dire d* une main admirable^ but thought a better

* This same Sylvius it was who replied to Vesalius that Galen was not
wrong when he described man as having seven bones in his sternum
(there are only three). "For," said he» "in ancient times the robust
chests of heroes might very well have had more bones than our degen-
erate day can boast." It is impossible to decide upon what might have
been ; but the mummies are ancient enough, and they have no more
bones than we.

t Blumenbach had already noted that in some young apes and baboons
no trace was discoverable of the bone.

I See his 'Comparative Anatomy^ translated by Lawrence ; and the
translator's note, p. 60. '

1788.] THE POET AS A MAN OF SCIENCE. 299

Latin style desirable. Goethe began to despise the pedantry
of professional men who would deny the testimony of their
five senses in favor of an old doctrine ; and he admirably
says, " The phrases men are accustomed to repeat incessantly
end by becoming convictions, and ossify the organs of intelli-
gmcer *

The most remarkable point in this discovery is less the
discovery than the Method which led to it. The intermaxil-
lary bone in animals contains the incisor teeth. Man has
incisor teeth ; and Goethe, fully impressed with the conviction
that there was Unity in Nature, boldly said, if man has the
teeth in common with animals, he must have the bone in
common with animals. Anatomists, lost in details^ and
wanting that fundamental conceptipn which, now underlies all
philosophical anatomy, saw no abstract necessity for such
identity of composition ; the more so, because evidence seemed
wholly against it But Goethe was not only guided by the
true philosophic conception, he was also instinctively led to
the true Method of demonstration, namely, Comparison of
the various modifications which this bone underwent in the
animal series. This Method has now become the Method ;

* Since the first edition of this work was published, I have met with
a piquant illustration of the not very honorable tendency in men to
plume themselves on the knowledge of a discovery which they had for-
merly rejected. ViCQ D'Azyr, Discours sur VAnatomie {CEtwres^ IV.
159), mentioning his discovery of the intermaxillary, adds, " J'ai appris
de M. Camper, dans son dernier voyage li Paris, qtte cet os lui est connu
depuis tris long temps?* Now this same Camper, on receiving the anon-
ymous dissertation in which Goethe propounded the discovery, said,
" Je dois re-examiner tout cela '* ; but on learning that Goethe was the
author, he wrote to Merck that he had *' convinced himself that the bone
did not exist " (see Virchow, Goethe als Naturforscher, p. 79) ; yet no
sooner does a great anatomist tell him that the bone exists than he com-
placently declares, " I have known it a long while."

300 THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book v.

and we require to throw ourselves into the historical position
to appreciate its novelty, at the time he employed it. He
found on comparison that the bone varied with the nutrition
of the animal, and the size of its teeth. He found, moreover,
that in some animals the bone was not separated from the
jaw ; and that in children the sutures were traceable. He
admitted that, seen from the front, no trace of the sutures
was visible, but on the interior there were unmistakable
traces. Examination of the foetal skull has since set the point
beyond dispute. I have seen one where the bone was dis-
tinctly separated ; and I possess a skull, the ossification of
which is far advanced at the parietal sutures, yet internally
faint traces of the intermaxillary are visible.*

Goethe made his discovery in 1784, and communicated it
to several anatomists. Loder mentions it in his Compendium
in 1787.

Respecting Goethe's claim to the honor of this discovery,
I have recently ascertained a fact which is of great or small
significance according to the views we hold respecting such
claims; namely, whether the clear enunciation of an idea,
though never carried out in detail, suffices to give priority ;
or whether, in the words of Owen,t " he becomes the true
discoverer who establishes the truth, and the sign of the proof
is the general acceptance. Whoever, therefore, resumes the
investigation of a neglected or repudiated doctrine, elicits its
true demonstration, and discovers and explains the nature of
the errors which have led to its tacit or declared rejection, may

* These might be considered abnormal cases. But M. J. Weber has
devised a method of treating the skull with dilute nitric acid, which
makes the separation of the bones perfect. — Froriep' s NoHzen, 1828, bd.
19, 282. ViRCHOW, 1. c, p. 80.

t Owen, Homologies of the Skeleton^ p. 76. Comp. also Malpighi,
Opera Posthuma, 1697, p. 5.

1788.] THE POET AS A MAN OF SCIENCE, 301

calmly and confidently await the acknowledgments of his
rights in its discovery." If we hold the former view, we must
assign the discovery of the intermaxillary in man to Vicq
d'Azyr ; if we hold the latter, to Goethe. In the Traitk
d*Anatomk ei de Physioiogie, which the brilliant anatomist pub-
lished in 1786, we not only find him insisting on the then
novel idea of an uniform plan in the structure of organic
beings, according to which nature " semble op^rer toujours
d'apr^s un modfele primitif et g^n^ral, dortt elle ne s'^carte
qu'k regret et dont on recontre partout des traces " ; * but we
find this explicit illustration given among others : " Peut-on
s'y refuser enfin " (i. e. to admit the traces of a general plan)
"en comparant les os maxillaires ant^rieurs que j'appelle
indsi/s dans les quadrupfedes, avec cette pifece osseuse qui
soutient les dents incisives sup^rieures dans Thomme, oil elle
est s^par^e de Fos maxillaire par une petite fiSlure trfes remar-
quable dans les foetus, k peine visible dans les adultes, et dont
personne n'avoit connu Tusage ? " In a subsequent passage
of the second DUcours he says : " Toutes ces dents sont
soutenues dans la michoire ant^rieure par un os que j'ai
d^crit sous le nom d'incisif ou labial, que quelques-uns ap-
pellent intermaxillaire, que Ton k ddcouvert depuis peu dans
les morses, et dont fai reconnu les traces dans ks os tnaxil-
laires supirieurs du foetus humainr f

The reader will remark that this is not simply the announce-
ment of the fact, but is adduced in illustration of the very
same doctrine which Goethe invoked. The Traite d'Ana-
tomie^ as we have seen, was published in 1786 ; that is to say,
two years after Goethe had made his discovery; and Sommer-
ing, in writing to Merck, % says : " I have expressed my opin-

* ViCQ D'AzYR, aSuurgSy IV. p. 26. The work is there called Dis'
cours sur PAnatomie,

t Ibid., p. 159. X Briefe an Merck, p. 493.

202 '^^^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book v.

ion on Vicq d'Azyr's work the Gbtting, Gelekrt. Anzeig, It
is the best we have. But as far as the work has yet gone,
Goethe is not mentioned in it." From which it may be
inferred that Sommering supposed Vicq d'Azyr to have been
acquainted with Goethe's contemporary labors ; but against
such a supposition we must remember that, if Germany took
note of what was passing in France, discoveries made in
Germany travelled with great slowness across the Rhine ; and
in illustration of this slowness we may note that Gfeoflfroy St.
Hilaire, who was several years afterwards nobly working out
conceptions of Philosophical Anatomy in a spirit identical
with that of Goethe, was utterly unconscious of the existence
of a predecessor, and noticing the monograph of G. Fischer,
said, " Gxthes aurait le premier d^couvert Tinterpari^tal dans
quelques rongeurs, et se serait content^ d'en faire mention
par une note manuscrite sur un exemplaire d'un traits d'ana-
tomie compar^e." *

But the conclusive point is this: although the TraitkcrAneh
tomie did not appear till 1 786, the discovery of the intermax-
illary was published by Vicq d'Az)rr in the Acad^mie des
Sciences for i779,t five years before Goethe announced his
discovery to Herder. The question of priority is therefore
settled. The Frenchman had no need of any acquaintance
with what the German poet had worked out; and Merck's
astonishment at finding Goethe's " so-called discovery ac-
cepted by Vicq d' Azyr " was wholly misplaced ; but can we

* Philosophie Anatomiqm, II. p. 55. Geoffroy was afterwards very
proud to have the suffrage of Gosthes ; and Geoffrey's son has spoken
most honorably of the coincidence between the speculations of his
father and those of the poet.

t In the first edition I stated that " from a note to Blumenbach's
Comparative Anatomy (p. 19), it seems as if Vicq d'Azyr had made
this observation as early as 1780." The date in the text is given by
Vicq d'Azyr himself — (Euvres, IV. 159.

I78&] THE POET AS A MAN OF SCIENCE. 303

be equally sure that (Joethe was altogether ignorant of
his predecessor? I think he was. The sudden enthusi-
asm, the laborious investigation, the jubilate of triumph, are
evidences that if ever his predecessor's discovery had come
under his notice (which is highly improbable), it was com-
pletely forgotten ; and we may judge how completely Vicq
d'Azyr's announcement had been without echo in the scientific
world, from the fact that the three most illustrious men of the
day. Camper, Blumenbach, and Sommering knew nothing of
it, and^enied the existence of the bone Goethe claimed to
have discovered. Thus, in assigning priority to Vicq d'Azyr,
we by no means diminish Goethe's merit He it was who
thoroughly worked out the discovery ; he it was who gave it a
fixed and definite place in science ; he it is who is always
named as the discoverer.

The only importance of this discovery is the philosophic
Method which it illustrates ; the firm belief it implies that all
organisms are constructed on an uniform plan, and that
Comparative Anatomy is only valid because such a plan is
traceable. In our day it seems an easy conception. We are
so accustomed to consider all the variations in organic struct-
ures as modifications of a type, that we can hardly realize to
ourselves any other conception. That it was by no means an
obvious idea, nor one easy to apply, may be seen in two bril-
liant applications — the metamorphosis of plants, and the
vertebral theory of the skull.

Place a flower in the hands of the cleverest man of your
acquaintance, providing always he has not read modern
works of science, and assure him that leaf, calyx, corolla, bud,
pistil, and stamen, differing as they do in color and in form,
are nevertheless all modified leaves ; assure him that flower
and fruit are but modifications of one typical form, which is
the leaf; and if he has any confidence in your knowledge he

304 ^-^-^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE, [book v.

may accept the statement, but assuredly it will seem to him
a most incomprehensible paradox. Place him before a
human skeleton, and, calling his attention to its manifold
forms, assure him that every bone is either a vertebra, or the
appendage to a vertebra, and that the skull is a congeries of
vertebrae under various modifications ; he will, as before,
accept your statement, perhaps ; but he will, as before, think
it one of the refinements of transcendental speculation to be
arrived at only by philosophers. Yet both of these astound-
ing propositions are first principles in Morphology ^and in
the History of Science both of these propositions are to be
traced to Goethe. Botanists and anatomists have, of course,
greatly modified the views he promulgated, and have substi-
tuted views nearer and nearer the truth, without yet being
quite at one. But he gave the impulse to their efforts.

While botanists and anatomists were occupied in analysis,
striving to distinguish separate parts, and give them distinct
names, his poetical and philosophic mind urged him to seek
the supreme synthesis, and reduce all diversities to a higher
unity. In his poem addressed to Christiane he says : —

" Thou, my love, art perplexed with the endless seeming confusion
Of the luxuriant wealth which in the garden is spread ;
Name upon name thou hearest, and in thy dissatisfied hearing.
With a barbarian noise one drives another along.
All the forms resemble, yet none is the same as another ;
Thus the whole of the throng points at a deep-hidden law."*

To prove this identity was no easy task. He imagined an
ideal typical plant {Urpflanze\ of which all actual plants
were the manifold realizations ; and this I cannot but agree
with Schleiden in considering a conception at once mislead-
ing and infelicitous. He was happier in the conception of
all the various organs of the plant as modifications of one

* Wheweirs translation, Hist Inductive Sciences, III. 36a

1788.] THE POET AS A MAN OF SCIENCE, 305

fundamental type ; this type he names the Leaf, Not thai
we are to understand the metamorphosis of plants to be anal-
ogous to the metamorphosis of animals (an error into which
I fell in my first edition, as Ferdinand Cohn properly points
out), nor indeed is it such a metamorphosis at all. The
pistil and petal are not first developed into leaves, and from
these leaves changed into petal and pistil ; as a caterpillar
develops into a grub, and the grub into a butterfly. This
would be metamorphosis. Instead of this we must conceive
the whole plant as a succession of repetitions of the original
type variously modified ; in some of these repetitions the
modification has been slight, in others considerable. The
two typical forms are stem and leaf. From the seed there is
an ascending and a descending axis, formed of a succession
of stems : the ascending axis is called the aerial stem ; the
descending axis is the root From both of these stems lat-
eral stems or branches are given off; and from these again
others. The Leaf is the second type : it forms all the other
organs by various modifications. Widely as a pistil differs
from a petal, and both from an ordinary leaf, they are dis-
closed as identical by the history of their development.

It is impossible to be even superficially acquainted with
biological speculations, and not to recognize the immense
importance of the recognition of a Type. As Helmholtz
truly observes, " The labors of botanists and zoologists did
little more than collect materials, nntil they learned to dis-
pose them in such a series that the laws of dependence and
a generalized type could be elicited. Here the great mind
of our poet found a field suited to it ; and the time was
favorable. Enough material had been collected in botany
and comparative anatomy for a clear survey to be taken ; and
although his contemporaries all wandered without a com-
pass, or contented themselves with a dry registration of facts^

306 ^-^-^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book v.

he was able to introduce into science two leading ideas of
infinite fruitfulness."

And here the question presents itself: Is Goethe right-
fully entitled to the honor universally awarded to him of
having founded the Morphology of Plants ? We must again
evoke the distinction previously stated (p. 300). No one
denies that the doctrine was so entirely novel that most
botanists at first rejected it with contempt, and only con-
sented to accept it when some eminent botanists had shown
it to be true. No one denies that Goethe worked it out ; if
any predecessor had conceived the idea, no one had carried
the idea into its manifold applications. But he has himself
named Linnaeus and Wolff as his precursors ; and it is of
some interest to ascertain in what degree these percursors
have claim to the honor of the discovery.

It has been remarked by the eminent botanist Ferdinand
Cohn,* that the great Linnaeus mingled with his observation
much fantastic error, which the poet Goethe was the first to
eliminate. But Dr. Hooker, while admitting the metaphysi-
cal and speculative matter which Linnaeus has mixed up with
his statements, is disposed to value them highly.

The aperfu was in Linnaeus: a spark awaiting the pres-
ence of some inflammable imagination; and when we
remember how fond Goethe was of Linnaeus, we can hardly
suppose that this aperfu had not more than once flashed
across his mind as a gleam of the truth. With regard to
Caspar Friedrich Wolff, the evidence is far from satisfactory.
It is certain that Wolff in his immortal work on " Genera-
tion " had clearly grasped the morphological principles, and
had left Goethe very little to add to them. But it is very
uncertain whether Goethe had ever read Wolff. Some years

* Goethe und die Metamorphosen der Pflanzen^ in the Deutsches Mu'
stum of^KXTTij IV. Jan., 1862.

1788.] THE POET AS A MAN OF SCIENCE. 307

after the publication of his work he mentions with pride the
fact of Wolff having been his " admirable precursor," and
says that his attention to the work had been drawn by a
namesake of the great embiyologist It was with no little
surprise, therefore, that I read in Diintzer * the unhesitating
assertion that in 1785 Herder had made Goethe a present of
WolflPs Theoria Generationis^ which contained a rough out-
line of several of Goethe's favorite ideas. If this statement
were correct, Goethe would be under serious suspicion ; but
it is not correct On referring to the passage in Herder's
letter to Knebel, which Diintzer pretends is the authority
for this statement, I find, in the first place, that Herder does
not specify the Theoria Gefierationis, nor, indeed, can we be
sure he refers to C. F. Wolff at all ; he merely says, " Wolff,"
which is a common name among German authors; in the
second place he does not say that he has given the book to
Goethe, but that he intends doing so when he can get a
copy; meanwhile Knebel is not to mention the book to
Goethe. And out of such a sentence as this, Diintzer has
constructed a " fact," which, while it gives his pedantry the
small delight of correcting in a foot-note Goethe's assertion
that F. A. Wolff directed his attention to the Theoria Gene-
rationis, lays Goethe open to the charges of having bor-
rowed his morphology from Wolff, of having concealed the
fact, and of having pretended never to have seen his pred-
ecessor's work until his attention was directed to it some
years afterwards. Against such charges the following argu-
ments may be urged. First, there is Goethe's own explicit
statement ; and his veracity is not lightly to be questioned.
Secondly, if the work referred to by Herder was the Theoria
Generationis (which is probable, but not certain), and if it
was given as intended (also probable, but not certain),we

* Goethe und JCarl August, 1861, p. 212.

3p8 ^-^^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book v.

have no evidence that Goethe read it Thirdly, and conclu-
sively, the date of the very letter in which Herder mentions
his intention is ten years later (1795) than Diintzer would
have us suppose ; and is thus five years after the publication
of Goethe's views (1790).*

The Metamorphosen was published in 1790. In 1817
Goethe says that he had requested his scientific friends to
make notes of any passages they might meet in earlier writers
relative to the topic he had treated, because he was convinced
that in science there was nothing absolutely new. His friend
F. A. Wolff directed him to Caspar Friedrich. In expressing
his admiration for his great predecessor, he is proud to ac-
knowledge how much he has learned from him during five-and-
twenty years. Now, five-and-twenty years from 18 17 brings
us back to 1792, — that is to say, two years after the publica-
tion of the Metamorphosen, and three years before the letter
written by Herder.t So that if we assume the work in ques-
ion to have been the Theoria Generationis, Goethe was per-
fectly correct in mentioning F. A. Wolff, and not Herder, as
the friend to whom he was first indebted for a knowledge of
its existence.

The tone in which Goethe speaks of Caspar Friedrich
Wolff is assuredly not that of a man who had any obligations
to conceal ; but, of a man who, recognizing a precursor
with pleasure, speaks of the two theories as two independent
modes of conceiving the phenomena, the theory of his pre-
cursor being pre-eminently physiological, while his own was
pre-eminently morphological.

* See Knebel, Nacklass, II. 268.

t It should be added that KnebeVs editors place a (?) after the date 1795.
But we have no reason to suppose they could err by ten years in assigning
this letter its place ; Diintzer professes no doubt as to the accuracy of the
date ; and internal evidence, taken with what is said above, renders it
highly probable that 1795 is very little removed from the correct date.

1788.] THE POET AS A MAN OF SCIENCE, 309

With regard both to Linnaeus and Wolff, it may be said that
they anticipated the morphology of plants, but that to Goethe
belongs the credit of establishing it. We do not take from
the credit of Columbus by showing that, five centuries before
he discovered the New World, Scandinavian voyagers had re-
peatedly touched on those shores ; nor do we diminish the
value of Goethe's contribution to Science, by showing that
before him Wolff had perceived the identity of the various
organs of the plant. It was not the purpose of the Scandi-
navians to discover the New World. They did not make
their discovery a possession for mankind. Neither was it
Wolffs purpose to create a new theory in Botany. He dis-
covered a process of nature while he was seeking the laws of
Epigenesis, and he only used his discovery as one of several
illustrations. Columbus set out with the distinct purpose of
discovery, and made his discovery a possession for all time.
So also Goethe set out with the distinct purpose, and Bota-
nists justly declare that to his work they owe the idea of
plant metamorphosis.

Whatever may be the final decision upon the Metamor-
phoses of Plants, there must ever remain the great and unique
glory of a poet having created a new branch of science, and
by means as legitimately scientific as those of any other
creation. Morphology now counts among its students illus-
trious names, and crowds of workers. And this science we
owe to the author of Faust, Nor is this all. He has priority
in some of the most luminous and comprehensive ideas which
are now guiding philosophic speculation on the science of
life.

Let me repeat, as a matter of justice, and not to allow the
high praise bestowed on Goethe's efforts to mislead the reader's
expectation, that the merit is that of a thinker in science^ not
the merit of an industrious discoverer and collector of details.

3IO THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book v.

His great effort was to create a Method, to establish principles
upon which the science could be founded

As a thinker in Science Goethe was truly remarkable, and
as a worker not contemptible. To prove how far he was in
advance of his age we have only to cite a single passage,
which, in its aphoristic, pregnant style, contains the clear an-
nouncement of biological laws, which have since been named
among the glories of Geoffroy St. Hilaire, Von Baer, Milne-
Edwards, Cuvier, and Lamarck : —

" Every living being is not a unity but a plurality. Even
when it appears as an individual, it is the reunion of beings
living and existing in themselves, identical in origin, but
which may appear identical or similar, different or dissimilar.
" The more imperfect a being is the more do its individual
parts resemble each other, and the more do these parts resemble
the whole. The more perfect the being is the more dissimilar
are its parts. In the former case the parts are more or less a
repetition of the whole : in the latter case they are totally un-
like the whole.

" The more the parts resemble each other, the less subordi-
nation is there of one to the other. Subordination of parts
indicates high grade of organization^ *

To illustrate by familiar examples. Take a polyp and cut
it into several pieces ; each piece will live and manifest all
those phenomena of nutrition and sensibility which the whole
polyp manifested. Turn it inside out like a glove, the inter-
nal part becomes its skin, the external part becomes its
stomach. The reason is, that in the simple structure of the
polyp, the parts resemble each other and resemble the whole.
There is no individual organ, or apparatus of organs, per-
forming one function, such as nutrition, and nothing else.
Every function is performed by every part ; just as in savage

♦ Zur MorphologU^ 1807 (written in 1795), Werke, XXXVI. p. 7.

1788.] THE POET AS A MAN OF SCIENCE. 311

societies, every man is his own tailor, his own armorer, his
own cook, and his own policeman. But take an animal
higher in the scale, and there you find the structure composed
of dissimilar parts, and each part having a different office.
That animal cannot be hewn in pieces and each gjece continue
to live as before. That animal cannot have its skin suddenly
turned into a stomach. That animal, in the social body,
cannot make his own clothes or his own musket ; the division
of labor which has accompanied his higher condition has
robbed him of his universal dexterity.

The law invoked by Goethe is now to be met with in every
philosophic work on zoology. One form of it is known in
England as Von Baer's law, viz. that Development proceeds
from the Like to the Unlike, from the General to the Partic-
ular, from the Homogeneous to the Heterogeneous. I have
too profound an admiration for Von Baer to wish in any way
to diminish his splendid claims, but I cannot help remarking
that when writers attribute to him the merit of having dis-
covered this law, they are in direct contradiction with Von
Baer himself, who not only makes no such claim, but in
giving the formula adds, " this law of development has indeed
never been overlooked."* His merit is the splendid applica-
tion and demonstration of the law, not the first perception
of it.

It is generally known that the law of " division of labor in
the animal organism " is claimed by Milne-Edwards, the great
French zoologist, as a discovery of his own. Yet we see how

* "Dieses Gesefz der Ausbildung ist wohl nieverkannt worden." —
Zur Entwickelungsgeschichte, Erster Theil, p. 153. Among others,
Wolff has clearly stated it. TTieorie von der Generation, § 28, p. 163.
See also Meckel, Traitk (TAnatomie Comparie, French trans. I. 297.
BuFFON also says : " Un corps organist, dont toutes les parties seraient
semblables k lui-m6me, est la plus simple, car ce n'est que la r^p^tition
de la mSme forme." — Hist. Not., 1749, II. 47.

312 THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book v.

clearly it is expressed in Goethe's formula. And with even
more clearness do we see expressed Cuvier's principle of
classification, viz. the subordination of parts, I do not wish
to press this point further, nor do I wish that these great men
should be robbed of any merit in order to glorify Goethe with
their trophies. The student of history knows how discoveries
are, properly speaking, made by the Age, and not by men.
He knows that all discoveries have had their anticipations ;
and that the world justly credits the man who makes the
discovery available^ not the man who simply perceived that it
was possible. I am not here writing the history of science,
but the biography of Goethe ; and the purpose of these cita-
tions is to show that he placed himself at the highest point of
view possible to his age, and that as a thinker he thought the
thoughts which the greatest men have subsequently made
popular.

Observe, moreover, that Goethe's anticipation is not of
that slight and fallacious order which, like so many other
anticipations, rests upon a vague or incidental phrase. He
did not simply attain an aper^u of the truth. He mastered
the law, and his mastery of that law sprang from his mastery
of the whole series of conceptions in which it finds its place.
Thus in his " Introduction to Comparative Anatomy," written
in 1795, ^^ pointed out the essentially sterile nature of the
comparisons then made, not only in respect of comparing
animals with men and with each other, not only in the abuse
of final causes, but also in taking man as the standard, instead
of commencing with the simplest organisms and rising grad-
ually upwards. One year after this, Geoffroy St. Hilaire
ignorant of what was passing in the study at Weimar and in
the Museum at Jena, published his Dissertation sur ks MakiSy
wherein he began his renovation of the science. He, too,
like Goethe, was bent on the creation of a Type according to

1788.] THE POET AS A MAN OF SCIENCE. 313

which all organized structures could be explained. This con-
ception of a Type {Allgemeines Bild\ according to which the
whole animal kingdom may be said to be constructed, was a
truly scientific conception, and has borne noble fruit. It must
not, however, be confounded with a Platonic Idea. It was
not metaphysical entity, it was simply a scientific artifice.
Goethe expressly says that we are not for an instant to
believe in the existence of this Type as an objective reality,
although it is the generalized expression of that which really
exists. This caution has not been sufficiently present to the
minds of several speculators ; and the idea of a Type has
engendered not a few extravagances. Nevertheless, the net
result of these speculations has been good.

Fifteen years after Goethe had passed away fi-om this
world, and when therefore there was no power of reply, Oken
in the Isis (1847, Heft VII.,) made an accusation against
Goethe's claim to the origination of the vertebral theory of the
skull. His statement completely staggered me, suggesting
very painful feelings as to Goethe's conduct. Indeed, the
similarity in the stories of both suggests suspicion. Goethe,
during one of his rambles in the Jewish cemetery near Ven-
ice, noticed the skull of a ram, which had been cut longitu-
dinally, and on e^mining it, the idea occurred to him that the
face was composed of three vertebrae : " the transition from
the anterior sphenoid to the ethmoid was evident at once."
Now, compare Oken's story. He narrates how in 1802, in a
work on the Senses, he had represented these organs as rep-
etitions of lower organs, although he had not then grasped
the idea, which lay so close at hand, respecting the skull as a
repetition of the spinal column. In 1806 he identified the
jaws of insects as limbs of the head ; and in 1806, while
rambling in the Harz Mountains, he picked up the skull of a
deer : on examining it, he exclaimed, " That is a vertebral
14

314 ^^^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book v.

column !" Virchow admits that the coincidence in the sto-
ries is singular, but adds that the discovery is just as proba-
ble in the one case as in the other ; all that is proved by the
coincidence being that both minds were on the verge of the
discovery. Goethe by long physiognomical and osteological
studies was prepared for the idea; and was naturally led
from the Metamorphoses of Plants to those of Insects ; and
if Oken reversed this order, passing from insects to mam-
mals, he was, nevertheless, many years later than Goethe, as
dates unequivocally prove. It is important to bear in mind
that the vertebral theory is only another application of those
morphological doctrines which Goethe had developed and
applied to plants ; and although it is quite possible that he
might have held these views without making the special
application to the skull, yet we know as a fact that he at
once saw how the morphological laws must necessarily apply
to animals, since he expressly states this in announcing his
discovery to Herder.* Nay, he shortly afterwards wrote,
"In Natural History I shall bring you what you little expect.
I believe myself to be very near the law of organization."
Still it may be objected, This is no proof; it only shows that
Goethe applied his doctrines to the animal organization, not
that he made a special application to the skulL Even this
doubt, however, has been finally settled by the recently pub-
lished correspondence, which gives us a letter from Goethe
to Herder's wife, dated 4th May, 1790, from Venice.
" Through a singular and lucky accident I have been ena-
bled to take a step forwards in my explanation of the animal
development {Thierbildung). My servant, in jest, took up the
fragment of an animaPs skull from the Jewish cemetery, pre-
tending to offer it me as a Jewish skull." Now when we '
remember that Goethe in after years affirmed that it was in

* Jtalianische Reise^ II. p. 5.

1788.] THE FOET AS A MAN OF SCIENCE.

315

r79o, and in the Jewish cemetery of Venice, that the idea of
the vertebral structure of the skull flashed upon him, the evi-
dence of this letter is conclusive.

Oken declares he made his discovery in 1806, and that in
1807 he wrote his Academic Programme. He was then a
Frivat Docent in Gottingen, "at 4 time, therefore, when
Goethe certainly knew nothing of my existence." He sent
his dissertation to Jena, where he had just been appointed
professor. Of that university Goethe was curator. Oken
considers this fact decisive : namely, that Goethe would
assuredly have remonstrated against Oken*s claim to the
discovery had he not recognized its justice. The fact, how-
ever, is by no means decisive : we shall see presently that
Goethe had his own reasons for silence. " I naturally sent
Goethe a copy of my programme. This discovery pleased him
so much that he invited me, at Easter, 1808, to spend a
week with him at Weimar, which I did. As long as the dis-
covery was ridiculed by men of science, Goethe was silent,
but no sooner did it attain renown through the works of
Meckel, Spix, and others, than there grew up a murmur
among Goethe's servile admirers that this idea originated
with him. About this time Bojanus went to Weimar, and
hearing of Goethe's discovery, half believed it, and sent the
rumor to me, which I thoughtlessly printed in the Isis (18 18,
p. 509) ; whereupon I announced that I made my discovery
in the autumn of 1806." This is equivocal. He did not
throw any doubt on Goethe's claim to priority, he only assert-
ed his own originality. " Now that Bojanus had brought
the subject forward," he adds, " Goethe's vanity was piqued,
and he came afterwards, thirteen years subsequent to my dis-
covery, and said he had held the opinion for thirty years."
' Why was Goethe silent when Oken first announced his dis-
covery ? and why did not Oken make the charge of plagia-

3i6 THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE, [book v,

rism during Goethe's lifetime? The first question may be
answered from Goethe's own works. In a note entitled Das
Schadeigeriist aus seeks Wirbelknochen auferbaut, after allud-
ing to his recognition first of three and subsequentiy of six
vertebrae in the skull, which he spoke of among his friends,
who set to work to demonstrate it if possible, he says : " In
the year 1807 this theory appeared tumultuously and imper-
fectly before the public, and naturally awakened great dis-
putes and some applause. How seriously it was damaged
by the incomplete and fantastic method of exposition, His-
tory must relate. This criticism of the exposition will be
understood by every one who has read Oken, and who
knows Goethe's antipathy to metaphysics.* With all his pre-
possession in favor of a Type, he could not patiently have
accepted an exposition which "tumultuously" announced
that " the whole man is but a vertebra." Accordingly he took
no notice of the tumultuous metaphysician ; and in his Tag
und yahres Hefie he mentions that while he was working out
his theory with two friends, Riemer and Voigt, they brought
him, with some surprise, the news that this idea had juat
been laid before the public in an academic programme, " a
fact," he adds, *' which they^ being still alive, can testify,^ Why
did he not claim priority ? " I told my friends to keep
quiet, for the idea was not properly worked out in the pro-
gramme ; and that it was not elaborated from original obser-
vations would be plain to all scientific men. I was frequently
besought to speak plainly on the subject \ but I was firm in
my silence."

When I first discussed this question, and knew nothing of
the decisive evidence which lay unpublished in the letter to
Herder's wife, I said that this statement carried complete

* So also Cuvier's antipathy to this exposition made him blind to the
truth which it contained.

1788.] THE POET AS A MAN OF SCIENCE, 317

conviction to my mind. It was published many years before
Oken made his charge, and it accused him in the most
explicit terms of having prematurely disclosed an idea Goethe
was then elaborating with the assistance of his friends.
Nor was this all. It appealed to two honorable and respect-
ed men, then living, as witnesses of the truth. Oken said
nothing when the question could have been peremptorily set'
tied by calling upon Voigt and Riemer. He waited till
death rendered an appeal impossible. He says, indeed, that
he made no answer to the first passage I have cited, because
he was not named in it, and he " did not wish to involve him-
self in a host of disagreeables." But this is no answer to the
second passage. There he is indicated as plainly as if the
name of Oken were printed in full ; and not only is he indi-
cated, but Goethe's friends speak of Oken's coming forward
with Goethe's idea as a matter which " surprised " them.
Those to whom this reasoning was not conclusive are now
referred to the confirmation it receives from the letter to
Herder's wife.

Having vindicated Goethe's character, ahd shown that bio*
graphically we are fully justified in assigning to him the honol
of having first conceived this theory, it now remains to be
added that historically the priority of Oken's claim must be
admitted. In writing the poet's biography, it is of some im-
portance to show that he was not indebted to Oken for the
discovery. In writing the history of science, it would be to
Oken that priority would be assigned, simply because, accord-
ing to the judicious principles of historical appreciation, pri-
ority of publication carries off the prize. No man's claim to
priority is acknowledged unless he can bring forward the evi-
dence of publication ; otherwise every discovery might be
claimed by those who have no right to it. Moreover, Oken
has another claim : to him undeniably belongs the merit of

2l8 THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book v.

having introduced the idea into the scientific world, accom-
panied with sufficient amount of detail to make it acceptable
to scientific minds, and to set them to work in verifying the
idea. On these grounds I think it indisputable that the
vertebral theory must be attributed to Oken, and not to
Goethe ; although it is not less indisputable that Goethe did
anticipate the discovery by sixteen years, and would have
earned the right to claim it of History, had he made his dis-
covery public, instead of privately discussing it with his
friends. Yirchow thinks otherwise ; he assigns priority to
Goethe ; but he would, I am sure, admit the generally received
principle that priority of publication is the test upon which
alone History can rely.

To conclude this somewhat lengthy chapter on the scien-
tific studies, it must be stated that, for the sake of bringing
together his various efforts into a manageable whole, I have
not attended strictly to chronology. Nor have I specified the
various separate essays he has written. They are all to be
found collected in his works. My main object has been to
show what were the directions of his mind, what were his
achievements and failures in Science, what place Science filled
in his life, and how false the supposition is that he was a mere
dabbler. What Buffon says of Pliny may truly be said of
Goethe, that he had ceitefacilitk depenser en grand qui multiple
la science; and it is only as a thinker in this great department
that I claim a high place for him.

1790] THE CAMPAIGN IN FRANCE. 319

CHAPTER VII.

THE CAMPAIGN IN FRANCE.

In 1790 Goethe undertook the government of all the In-
stitutions for Science and Art, and busied himself with the
arrangement of the Museums and Botanical Gardens at Jena.
In March of the same year he went once more to Italy to meet
the Duchess Amalia and Herder in Venice. There he tried
in Science to find refuge from troubled thoughts. Italy on a
second visit seemed, however, quite another place to him.
He began to suspect that there had been considerable illu-
sion in the charm of his first visit. The Vefuiian Epigrams^
if compared with the Roman Elegies^ will indicate the differ-
ence of his mood. The yearning regret, the fulness of
delight, the newness of wonder which give their accents to
the Elegies, are replaced by sarcasms and the bitterness of
disappointment. It is true that many of these epigrams were
written subsequently, as their contents prove, but the mass of
them are products of the Venetian visit. Something of this
dissatisfaction must be attributed to his position. He was ill
at ease with the world. The troubles of the time, and the
troubles of his own domestic affairs, aggravated the dangers
which then threatened his aims of self-culture, and increased
his difficulty in finding that path in Science and Art whereon
the culture of the world might be pursued.

In June he returned to Weimar. In July the Duke sent
for him at the Prussian Camp in Silesia, " where, instead of
stones and flowers, he would see the field sown with troops."
He went unwillingly, but compensated himself by active re-
^arches into " stones and flowers," leaving to the Duke and

320 THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book v.

others such interest as was to be found in soldiers. He lived
like a hermit in the camp, and began to write an essay on the
development of animals, and a comic opera.

In August he returned to Weimar. The Duchess Amalia
and Herder, impatient at "such waste of time over old bones,"
plagued him into relinquishing osteology, and urged him to
complete WiUulm MeisUr. He did not, however, proceed far
with it The creative impulse was past; and to disprove
Newton was a more imperious desire. In 1791, which was a
year of quiet study and domestic happiness for him, the Court
Theatre was established. He undertook the direction with
delight

And now he was to be torn from his quiet studies to follow
the fortunes of an unquiet camp. The King of Prussia and
the Duke of Brunswick at the head of a large army invaded
France, to restore Louis XVI. to his throne, and save legiti-
macy from the sacrilegious hands of Sansculottism. France,
it was said, groaned under the tyranny of factions, and yearned
for deliverance. The emigrants made it clear as day that
the Allies would be welcomed by the whole nation ; and the
German rulers willingly lent their arms to the support of
legitimacy. Karl August, passionately fond of the army,
received the command of a Prussian regiment. And Goethe,
passionately fond of Karl August, followed him into the field.
But he followed the Duke, — he had no sympathy with the
cause. Indeed, he had no strong feeling either way.
Legitimacy was no passion with him ; still less was Republic-
anism. Without interest in passing politics, profoundly con-
vinced that all salvation could only come through inward
culture, and dreading disturbances mainly because they ren-
dered culture impossible, he was emphatically the " Child of
Peace," and could at no period of his life be brought to
sympathize with great struggles. He disliked the Revolution

1790.] THE CAMPAIGN IN FRANCE, 321

as he disliked the Reformation, because they both thwarted
the peaceful progress of development.

It was not in Goethe's nature to be much moved by events,
to be deeply interested in the passing troubles of external
life. A meditative mind like his natxirally sought in the
eternal principles of Nature the stimulus and the food which
other minds sought in passing phenomena of the day. A
poet and a philosopher is bound to be interested in the great
questions of poetry and philosophy ; but to rail at him for
not also taking part in politics, is as irrational as to rail at a
prime minister because he cares not two pins for Greek Art,
and has no views on the transmutation of species. It is said,
and very foolishly said, that Goethe turned from politics to
art and science^ because politics disturbed him, and because
he was too selfish to interest himself in the affairs of others.
But this accusation is on a par with those ungenerous accusa-
tions which declare heterodoxy to be the shield of profligacy :
as if doubts proceeded only from dissolute habits. How
unselfish Goethe was, those best know who know him best ;
it would be well if we could say so much of many who devote
themselves to patriotic schemes. Patriotism may be quite as
selfish as Science or Art, even when it is a devout convic-
tion ; nor is it Jikely to be less selfish when, as so often
happens, patriotism is only an uneasy pauperism.

That Goethe sincerely desired the good of mankind, and
that he labored for it in his way with a perseverance few have
equalled, is surely enough to absolve him from the charge of
selfishness, because his labors did not take the special di-
rection of politics. What his opinions were is one thing,
another thing his conduct. Jean Paul says, " He was more
far-sighted than the rest of the world, for in the beginning
of the French Revolution he despised the patriots as much
as he did at the end." I do not detect any feeling so deep
14* u

222 '^^^ STOkV OF GOETHE* S LIFE. [book v.

as contempt, either late or early ; but it is certain that while
Klopstock and others were madly enthusiastic at the opening
of this terrible drama^ they were as madly fanatical against it
before its close ; whereas Goethe seems to have held pretty
much the same opinion throughout.

The Allies entered France, believing the campaign would
be a mere promenade. Longwy they were assured would soon
surrender, and the people receive them with open arms.
Longwy did surrender ; but the people, so far from showing
any disposition to welcome them, everywhere manifested the
most determined resistance.

The defeat at Valmy, slight as it was, discouraged the
Prussians and exhilarated the French, The Prussians
startled at the cry of Vive la Nation / with which the republi-
cans charged, and finding themselves on foreign ground,
without magazines, stores, or any proper preparations for a
long conflict, perceived the mistake they had made, and
began to retreat It was doubtless a relief to Goethe to hear
that he had not much longer to endure the hardships of cam-
paigning. He had no interest in the cause, and he had not
gained by actual contact with its leaders a higher opinion of
them. Although his return home was slow, and French
arms were everywhere victorious in his t rear, he finally
reached Weimar in safety, and was able to resume the old
tenor of his life.

BOOK THE SIXTH.

1794 TO 1805.

CHAPTER I.

GOETHE AND SCHILLER.

There are few nobler spectacles than the friendship of
two great men ; and the History of Literature presents noth-
ing comparable to the friendship of Goethe and Schiller.
The friendship of Montaigne and Etienne de la Boetie was,
perhaps, more passionate and entire ; but it was the union of
two kindred natures, which from the first moment discovered
their affinity, not the union of two rivals incessantly con-
trasted by partisans, and originally disposed to hold aloof
from each other. Rivals Goethe and Schiller were and are ;
natures in many respects directly antagonistic ; chiefs of
opposing camps, and brought into brotherly union only by
what was highest in their natures and their aims.

To look on these great rivals was to see at once their pro-
found dissimilarity, Goethe's beautiful head had the calm
victorious grandeur of the Greek ideal ; Schiller's the earnest
beauty of a Christian looking towards the Future. The
massive brow, and large-pupilled eyes, — like those given by
Raphael to the infant Christ, in the matchless Madonna di
San Sisto, — the strong and well-proportioned features, lined
indeed by thought and suffering, yet showing that thought
and suffering have troubled, but not vanquished, the strong
man, — a certain healthy vigor in the brown skin, make
Goethe a striking contrast to Schiller, with his eager eyes,

324 ^-^^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book vl

narrow brow, — tense and intense, — his irregular features
worn by thought and suffering, and weakened by sickness.
The one looks^ the other looks out. Both are majestic ; but
one has the majesty of repose, the other of conflict. Goethe's
frame is massive, imposing; he seems much taller than
he is. Schiller's frame is disproportioned, he seems less than
he is. Goethe holds himself stiffly erect ; the long-necked
Schiller " walks like a camel." * Goethe's chest is like the
torso of the Theseus ; Schiller's is bent, and has lost a lung.

A similar difference is traceable in details. " An air that
was beneficial to Schiller acted on me like poison," Goethe
said to Eckermann. " I called on him one day, and as I did
not find him at home, I seated myself at his writing-table to
note down various matters. I had not been seated long,
before I felt a strange indisposition steal over me, which
gradually increased, until at last I nearly fainted. At first I
did not know to what cause I should ascribe this wretched
and to me unusual state, until I discovered that a dreadful
odor issued from a drawer near me. When I opened it, I
found to my astonishment that it was full of rotten apples.
I immediately went to the window and inhaled the fresh air,
by which I was instantly restored. Meanwhile, his wife
came in, and told me that the drawer was always filled with
rotten apples, because the scent was beneficial to Schiller,
and he could not live or work without it."

As another and not unimportant detail, characterizing the
healthy and unhealthy practice of literature, it may be added
that Goethe wrote in the freshness of morning, entirely free

* This picturesque phrase was uttered by Tieck, the sculptor, to Rauch,
from whom I heard it. Let me add that Schiller's brow is called in the
text "narrow," in defiance of Dannecker's bust, with which I compared
Schiller's skull, and found that the sculptor, as usual, had grossly de-
oarted from truth in his desire to idealize.

1794] GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 325

from stimulus; Schiller worked in the feverish hours of
night, stimulating his languid brain with coffee and cham-
pagne.

In comparing one to a Greek ideal, the other to a Christian
ideal, it has already been implied that one was the representa-
tive of Realism, the other of Idealism. Goethe has himself
indicated the capital distinction between them : Schiller was
animated with the idea of Freedom ; Goethe, on the contary,
was animated with the idea of Nature. This distinction runs
through their works: Schiller always pining for something
greater than Nature, wishing to make men Demigods ; Goethe
always striving to let Nature have free development, and
produce the highest forms of Humanity. The Fall of Man
was to Schiller the happiest of all events, because thereby
men fell away from pure instinct into conscious freedom ; with
this sense of freedom came the possibility of Morality. To
Goethe this seemed paying a price for Morality which was
higher than Morality was worth ; he preferred the ideal of a
condition wherein Morality was unnecessary. Much as he
might prize a good police, he prized still more a society in
which a police would never be needed.

Goethe and Schiller were certainly different natures ; but
had they been so fundamentally opposed as it is the fashion
to consider them, they could never have become so intimately
united. They were opposite and allied, with somewhat of
the same differences and resemblances as are traceable in the
Greek and Roman Mars. In the Greek Mythology the God
of War had not the prominent place he attained in Rome ;
and the Greek sculptors, when they represented him, repre^
sented him as the victor returning, after conflict, to repose,
holding in his hand the olive branch, while at his feet sat
Eros. The Roman sculptors, or those who worked for Rome,
represented Mars as the God of War in all his terrors, in the

326

THE STORY OF GOETHES LIFE, [book yi.

very act of leading on to victoiy. But, different as these
two conceptions were, they were both conceptions of the God
of War ; Goethe may be likened to the one, and Schiller to
the other: both were kindred spirits united by a common
purpose.

Having touched upon the points of contrast, it will now be
needful to say a* word on those points of resemblance which
served as the basis of their union. It will be unnecessary to
instance the obvious points which two such poets must have
had in common ; the mention of some less obvious will sufi&ce
for our present purpose. They were both profoundly con-
vinced that Art was no luxury of leisure, no mere amusement
to charm the idle, or relax the careworn ; but a mighty influ-
ence, serious in its aims although pleasurable in its means ;
a sister of Religion, by whose aid the great world-scheme was
wrought into reality. This was with them no mere sonorous
phrase. They were thoroughly in earnest They believed
that Culture would raise Humanity to its full powers ; and
they, as artists, knew no Culture equal to that of Art. It was
probably a perception of this belief that made Karl Grun say,
" Goethe was the most ideal Idealist the earth has ever borne ;
an (Esthetic Idealist." And hence the origin of the wide-
spread error that Gk)ethe " only looked at life as an artist,**
i. e. cared only for human nature inasmuch as it afforded him
materials for Art ; a point which will be more fully examined
hereafter. The phases of their development had been very
similar, and had brought them to a similar standing-point.
They both began rebelliously ; they both emerged from titanic
lawlessness in emerging from youth to manhood. In Italy
the sight of ancient masterpieces completed Goethe's meta-
morphosis. Schiller had to work through his in the gloomy
North, and under the constant pressure of anxieties. He,
too, pined for Italy, and thought the climate of Greece would

4794-] GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 327

make him a poet But his intense and historical mind found
neither stimulus nor enjoyment in plastic Art Noble men
and noble deeds were the food which nourished his great
soul. '' His poetic purification came from moral ideals ;
whereas in Goethe the moral ideal came from the artistic."*
Plutarch was Schiller's Bible. The ancient masterpieces of
poetry came to him in this period of his development, to lead
him gently by the hand onwards to the very point where
Goethe stood. He read the Greek tragedians in wretched
French translations, and with such aid laboriously translated
the Iphigmia of Euripides. Homer, in Voss*s faithful version,
became to him what Homer long was to Goethe. And how
thoroughly he threw himself into the ancient world may be
seen in his poem. The Gods of Greece, Like Goethe, he had
found his religious opinions gradually separating him more
and more from the orthodox Christians ; and, like Goethe, he
had woven for himself a system out of Spinoza, Kant, and the
Grecian sages.

At the time, then, that these two men seemed most opposed
to each other, and were opposed in feeling, they were gradu-
ally drawing closer and closer in the very lines of their devel-
opment, and a firm basis was prepared for solid and enduring
union. Goethe was five-and-forty, Schiller five-and-thirty.
Goethe had much to give, which Schiller gratefully accepted ;
and if he could not in return influence the developed mind
of his great friend, nor add to the vast stores of its knowledge
and experience, he could give him that which was even more
valuable, sympathy and impulse. He excited Goethe to work.
He withdrew him from the engrossing pursuit of science,
and restored him once more to poetry. He urged him to
finish what was already commenced, and not to leave his
works all fragments. They worked together with the same

* Gervinusy V. p. 152.

334 '^^^^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE, [book vi.

loss. You can console yourself with the thought that it has
come so early, and thus more affects your hopes than your
love." Goethe replies : " One knows not whether in such
cases it is better to let sorrow take its natural course, or to
repress it by the various aids which culture offers us. If one
decides upon the latter method, as I always dOy one is only
strengthened for a moment ; and I have observed that Na-
ture always asserts her right through some other crisis/*

No other crisis seems to have come in this case. He was
active in all directions. Gottling, in Jena, had just come for-
ward with the discovery that phosphorus bums in nitrogen ;
and this drew Goethe's thoughts to Chemistry, which for a
time was his recreation. Anatomy never lost its attraction :
and through the snow on bitter mornings he was seen trudg-
ing to Loder's lectures, with a diligence young students
might have envied. The Humboldts, especially Alexander,
with whom he was in active correspondence, kept alive his
scientific ardor ; and it is to their energetic advice that we
owe the essays on Comparative Anatomy. He was con-
stantly talking to them on these subjects, eloquently
expounding his ideas, which would probably never have been
put to paper had they not urged him to it. True it is, that
he did not finish the Essays ; and only in 1820 did he print
what he had written.* These conversations with the Hum-
boldts embraced a wide field. "It is not, perhaps,
presumptuous to suppose," he says, " that many ideas have
thence, through tradition^ become the common property of
science, and have blossomed successfully, although the
gardener who scattered the seeds is never named."

* This detail is important, as indeed every question of date must be
in science. When the Essays were published, the principal ideas had
already been brought before the world ; when the Essays were written,
the ideas were extraordinary novelties.

I794-] GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 335

Poetical plans were numerous ; some of them were carried
into execution. A tragedy on the subject of " Prometheus
Unbound " was begun, but never continued. The Hymn to
Apollo was translated. Alexis und Dora, the Vier jfahres
Zeiten, and several of the smaller poems, were written and
given to Schiller for the Horen or the Musen Almanack ; not
to mention translations from Madame de Stael, and the
Autobiography of Bmvenuto Cellini. But the product of this
time which made the greatest sensation was the Xenien.

It has already been indicated that the state of German
Literature was anything but brilliant, and that public
taste was very low. The Horen was started to raise that
degraded taste by an illustrious union of " All the Talents.'*
It came — was seen — and made no conquest. Mediocrity
in arms assailed it in numerous journals. Stupidity, against
which, as Schiller says, " the gods themselves are powerless,"
was not in the least moved. The Horen was a double fail-
ure, for it failed to pay its expenses, and it failed to excite
any great admiration in the few who purchased it. Articles
by the poorest writers were attributed to the greatest. Even
Frederick Schlegel attributed a story by Caroline von Wolzo-
gen to Goethe. The public was puzzled — and somewhat
bored. " All the Talents " have never yet succeeded in
producing a successful periodical, and there are some good
reasons for supposing that they never will. The Horen met
with the fate of The Liberal^ in which Byron, Shelley, Leigh
Hunt, Moore, Hazlitt, and Peacock were engaged. But the
two great poets who had taken the greatest interest in it were
not to be ignored with impunity. They resolved on a lit-
erary vengeance, and their vengeance was the Xenien, 1

A small library might be collected of the works called forth
by these epigrams; but for the English reader the topic
necessarily has but slender interest. He is not likely to

330 ^-^^^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book vl

and the trial of Louis XVI. produced so deep an impression
on him, that he commenced an address to the National
Convention, which was, however, outrun by rapid events.
Like Wieland, he saw no hope but in a dictatorship.

Such being the position of the leading minds, we are not
to wonder if we find them pursuing their avocations just as
if nothing were going on in France or elsewhere. Weimar
could play no part in European politics. The men of Weimar
had their part to play in Literature, through which they saw
a possible regeneration. Believing in the potent eificacy of
culture, they devoted themselves with patriotism to that A
glance at the condition of German Literature will show how
patriotism had noble work to do in such a cause.

The Leipsic Fair was a rival to our Minerva Press ; Chiv-
alry-romances, Robber-stories and Spectre-romances, old
German superstitions, Augustus Lafontaine's sentimental
family-pictures, and Plays of the Sturm und Drang style,
swarmed into the sacred places of Art, like another invasion
of the Goths. On the stage Kotzebue was king. The
Stranger was filling every theatre, and moving the sensibili-
ties of a too readily moved pit. Klopstock was becoming
more and more oracular, less and less poetical. Jean Paul
indeed gave signs of power and originality; but except
Goethe and Schiller, Voss, who had written his Luise and
translated Horner^ alone seemed likely to form the chief
of a school of which the nation might be proud.

It was in this state of things that Schiller conceived the
plan of a periodical, — Die Horen, — memorable in many
ways to all students of German Literature. Goethe, Herder,
Kant, Fichte, the Humboldts, Klopstock, Jacobi, Engel,
Meyer, Garve, Matthisson, and others, were to form a pha-
lanx whose irresistible might should speedily give them pos-
session of the land.

I794-] GOETHE AND SCHILLER, 331

Such was the undertaking which formed the first link in
the friendship of Goethe and Schiller. How they stood
towards each other has been seen in the preceding Book.
One day, in May, 1794, they met, coming from a lecture given
by Batsch at the Natural History Society in Jena ; in talking
over the matter, Goethe, with pleased surprise, heard Schil-
ler criticise the fragmentary Method which teachers of Sci-
ence uniformly adopted. When they arrived at Schiller's
house, Goethe went in with him, expounding the Theory of
Metamorphoses with great warmth. Taking up a pen, he
made a rapid sketch of the typical plant. Schiller listened
with great attention, seizing each point clearly and rapidly,
but shaking his head at last, and saying, ** This is not an
observation, it is an Idea.*' Goethe adds : " My surprise
was painful, for these words clearly indicated the point which
separated us. The opinions he had expressed in his essay
on Anmuth und Wurde recurred to me, and my old repul-
sion was nearly revived. But I mastered myself, and
answered that I was delighted to find I had Ideas without
knowing it, and to be able to contemplate them with my own
eyes." There can be little question of Schiller having been
in the right, though perhaps both he and Goethe assigned an
exclusively subjective meaning to the phrase. The typical
plant, Goethe knew very well, was not to be found in nature ;
but he thought it was revealed in plants.* Because he
arrived at the belief in a type through direct observation and
comparison, and not through i priori deduction, he main-
tained that this t5rpe was an intuition {Anschauung) , not an
idea. Probably Schiller was more impressed with the meta-
physical nature of the conception than with the physical evi-

* Goethe, speaking of his labors in another department, says. "I
endeavored to find the Primitive Animal (Urthier), in other words, the
Conception, the Idea of an Animal." — Werke, XXXVI. p. 14.

332 '^^^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book vr.

dence on which it had been formed. The chasm between
them was indeed both broad and deep ; and Goethe truly
says : " It was in a conflict between the Object and the Sub-
ject, the greatest and most interminable of all conflicts, that
began our friendship, which was eternal." A beginning had
been made. Schiller's wife, for whom Goethe had a strong
regard, managed to bring them together ; and the proposed
journal, Die Horm^ brought their activities and sympathies
into friendly union. Rapid was the growth of this friend-
ship, and on both sides beneficial. Schiller paid a fort-
night's visit at Weimar ; Goethe was frequently in Jena.
They found that they agreed not only on subjects, but also
on the mode of looking at them. " It will cost me a
long time to unravel all the ideas you have awakened in
me," writes Schiller ; " but I hope none will be lost."

Regretting that he could not give the novel Wilhelm
Mcister for the Horen^ having already promised it to a pub-
lisher, Goethe nevertheless sends Schiller the manuscript
from the third book onwards, ^nd gratefully profits by the
friendly criticism with which he reads it. He gave him,
however, the two Epistles^ the Unterhaltungen deuischer Ausge-
wanderieriy the Roman Elegies^ and the essay on Literary
Sanscubttism,

The mention of Wilhelm Meister leads us to retrace our
steps a few months, when the active interest he took in the
direction of the Weimar Theatre revived his interest in this
novel, over which he had dawdled so many years. He fin-
ished it \ but he finished it in quite a different spirit from
that in which it was commenced, and I do not at all feel that
Schiller's criticisms really were of advantage to it.

Towards the end of July he went to Dessau, and from
thence to Dresden, where he strove with Meyer to forget the
troubles of the time in contemplation of the treasures of Art

I794-] GOETHE AND SCHILLER, 333

** All Germany," he writes to Fritz von Stein, " is divided
into anxious, croaking, or indifferent men. For myself I find
nothing better than to play the part of Diogenes, and roll
my tub." He returned, and daily grew more and more inti-
mate with Schiller. They began the friendly interchange of
letters, which have since been published in six volumes,
known to every student In Goethe's letters to other friends
at this time, 1795, is noticed an inward contentment, which
he rightly attributes to this new influence. " It was a new
spring to me," he says, " in which all seeds shot up, and
gayly blossomed in my nature." Contact with Schiller's ear-
nest mind and eager ambition gave him the stimulus he so
long had wanted. The ordinary spurs to an author's activ-
ity — the need of money or the need of fame — pricked him
not. He had no need of money \ of fame he had enough ;
and there was no nation to be appealed to. But Schiller's
restless striving, and the emulation it excited, acted like
magic upon him ; and the years of their friendship were for
both the most productive. In an unpublished letter from
Frau von Stein to Charlotte von Lengefeld, dated 1795,
there is this noticeable sentence : " I also feel that Goethe is
drawing nearer to Schiller, for he has appeared to be now a
little more aware of my existence. He seems to me like
one who has been shipwrecked for some years on one of the
South Sea Islands, and is now beginning to think of return-
ing home." By the shipwreck is of course meant Christiane
Vulpius ; and by home, the salon of the Frau von Stein. It
is possible, however, to reverse these positions.

On the ist of November another son is born to Goethe.
He bids Schiller to bring his contribution in the shape of a
daughter, that the poetic family may be united and increased
by a marriage. But this child only lives a few days. On
the 20th, Schiller writes : "We have deeply grieved for your

334 '^^^^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE, [book vi.

loss. You can console yourself with the thought that it has
come so early, and thus more affects your hopes than your
love/' Goethe replies : " One knows not whether in such
cases it is better to let sorrow take its natural course, or to
repress it by the various aids which culture offers us. If one
decides upon the latter method, as I always do^ one is only
strengthened for a moment ; and I have observed that Na-
ture always asserts her right through some other crisis."

No other crisis seems to have come in this case. He was
active in all directions. Gottling, in Jena, had just come for-
ward with the discovery that phosphorus bums in nitrogen ;
and this drew Goethe's thoughts to Chemistry, which for a
time was his recreation. Anatomy never lost its attraction :
and through the snow on bitter mornings he was seen trudg-
ing to Loder's lectures, with a diligence young students
might have envied. The Humboldts, especially Alexander,
with whom he was in active correspondence, kept alive his
scientific ardor ; and it is to their energetic advice that we
owe the essays on Comparative Anatomy. He was con-
stantly talking to them on these subjects, eloquently
expounding his ideas, which would probably never have been
put to paper had they not urged him to it. True it is, that
he did not finish the Essays ; and only in 1820 did he print
what he had written.* These conversations with the Hum-
boldts embraced a wide field. "It is not, perhaps,
presumptuous to suppose," he says, " that many ideas have
thence, through tradition^ become the common property of
science, and have blossomed successfully, although the
gardener who scattered the seeds is never named.*'

* This detail is important, as indeed every question of date must be
in science. When the Essays were published, the principal ideas had
already been brought before the world ; when the Essays were written,
the ideas were extraordinary novelties.

I794-] GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 335

Poetical plans were numerous ; some of them were carried
into execution. A tragedy on the subject of "Prometheus
Unbound " was begun, but never continued. The Hymn to
Apollo was translated. AUxis und Dora^ the Vier jfahres
Zeiten^ and several of the smaller poems, were written and
given to Schiller for the Horen or the Musen Almanack ; not
to mention translations from Madame de Stael, and the
Autobiography of Benvenuto Cellini. But the product of this
time which made the greatest sensation was the Xenien,

It has already been indicated that the state of German
Literature was anything but brilliant, and that public
taste was very low. The Horen was started to raise that
degraded taste by an illustrious union of " All the Talents."
It came — was seen — and made no conquest. Mediocrity
in arms assailed it in numerous journals. Stupidity, against
which, as Schiller says, " the gods themselves are powerless,"
was not in the least moved. The Horen was a double fail-
ure, for it failed to pay its expenses, and it failed to excite
any great admiration in the few who purchased it. Articles
by the poorest writers were attributed to the greatest Even
Frederick Schlegel attributed a story by Caroline von Wolzo-
gen to Goethe. The public was puzzled — and somewhat
bored, ** All the Talents " have never yet succeeded in
producing a successful periodical, and there are some good
reasons for supposing that they never will. The Horen met
with the fate of The Liberal^ in which Byron, Shelley, Leigh
Hunt, Moore, Hazlitt, and Peacock were engaged. But the
two great poets who had taken the greatest interest in it were
not to be ignored with impunity. They resolved on a lit-
erary vengeance, and their vengeance was the Xenien. \

A small library might be collected of the works called forth
by these epigrams; but for the English reader the topic
necessarily has but slender interest. He is not likely to

336 "^H^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE, [book vi.

exclaim with Boas: "On the 31st of October, 15 17, was
commenced the Reformation of the Church in Germany ; in
October, 1796, commenced the Reformation of Literature.
As Luther published his Theses in Wittenberg, so Goethe
and Schiller published their Xenien. No one before had the
courage so to confront sacred Dulness, so to lash all Hypoc-
risy/' One sees that some such castigation was needed, by
the loud howling which was set up from all quarters ; but
that any important purification of Literature was thereby
effected is not so clear.

The idea was Goethe's. It occurred to him while reading
the Xenia of Martial ; and having thrown off a dozen epi-
grams, he sent them to Schiller for the Musen Almanack,
Schiller was delighted, but said there must be a hundred
of them, chiefly directed against the journals which had
attacked the Horen ; the hundred was soon thought too small
a number, and was enlarged to a thousand. They were
written in the most thorough spirit of collaboration, the idea
being sometimes given by one, and the form by another ;
one writing the first verse, and leaving the second to the
other. There is no accurate separation of their epigrams,
giving each to each, although critics have made an approx-
imative selection ; and Maltzahn has recently aided this by
collation of the original manuscripts ; from this it appears
that Goethe wrote about one sixth of the whole, and those
the least personal and offensive epigrams.

The sensation was tremendous. All the bad writers in
the kingdom, and they were an army, felt themselves person-
ally aggrieved. The pietists and sentimentalists were
ridiculed ; the pedants and pedagogues were lashed. So
many persons and so many opinions were scarified, that no
wonder if the public ear was startled at the shrieks of pain.
Counterblasts were soon heard, and the Xenien-Sturm will

1795 I OOETffE AND SCHILLER, 337

remain as a curious episode of the war of the " many foolish
heads against the two wise ones." " It is amusing," writes
Goethe to Schiller, "to see what has really irritated these
fellows, what they believe will irritate us, how empty and low
is their conception of others, how they aim their arrows
merely at the outworks, and how little they dream of the
inaccessible citadel inhabited by men who are in earnest."
The sensation produced by the Dundad and by the English
Bards and Scotch Reviewers was mild compared with the
sensation produced by the Xenien; although the wit and
sarcasm of the Xeniefi is as milk and water compared with
the vitriol of the Dundad and the English Bards,

Read by no stronger light than that which the appreciation
of wit as wit throws on these epigrams, and not by the strong
light of personal indignity or personal malice, the Xenien
will appear very weak productions, and the sensation they
excited must appear somewhat absurd. But a similar dis-
appointment meets the modern reader of the Anti- jacobin.
We know that its pages were the terror of enemies, the
malicious joy of friends. We know that it was long held as
a repertory of English wit, and the "Days of the Anti-
jacobin " are mentioned by Englishmen as the days of the
Xenien are by Germans. Yet now that the personal spice is
removed, we read both of them with a feeling of wonder at
their enormous influence. In the Xenien there are a few
epigrams which still titillate the palate, for they have the salt
of wit in their lines. There are many also which have no
pretension to wit, but are admirable expressions of critical
canons and philosophic ideas. If good taste could not be
created by attacks on bad taste, there was at any rate some
hope that such a castigation would make certain places sore ;
and in this sense the Xenim did good service.

IS V

rWte

(h fc |nt oT Odober, 1517, ym

te Rdbmuira of Liiernlmt,

1» flcB k WmenbiTg, so Goethe

Nook before hid the

WIS nee , _^
miet iplm afl qotrters; kt
of Utcntiire was llierabjr

Tk

••=^

^■•GBiiKt b icamd to luiii whik rmiiiig
iB ^ MtfHl ; Mi Imi thvm of a do££:i ejd*^
^ i^ ^m It Sdlff ki the Jtf^ MmmtcL
^ ^U^ te aid llKft iBBst be ^ hundred
|L f tef ^ fcfi ri ipatf tk joifmils nrhich bd
g ^ J^; Ab Ittdml V2S sExxi tbought too small
^ ^wm i^U|d 10 i tbcasand Thty ^tf&t
^^mAif^V*^ qT collibootion, tiie idea

nd kivini tk second
seinatbo of ih^ir ep^,
ortio have mide to approi-
lUOjJni liiis Ttctntly aided this by
pj„gcripts; from this it appean
„sttlii of the tt hole, and those
epigram

All the bad B-riters in

^ tkr -ee in imv, felt ihenisdves person.

■^ Tlf Picmts iiKi sentimentalists %w

' JJsTwtoj opinions i^trc ^riJied. that n£^

m\

GOETHE A\D SCHILLER.

337

main as a curious episode of the war of the ** many foolish
[ eads against the two wise ones." " It b amusing,^ m rites
I oethe to Schiller, " to see what has really irritated these
[ jiilows, what they believe will irritate us, how empty and low
[s their conception of others, how they aim their arrows
Imerely at the outworks, and how little they dream of the
naccessible citadel inhabited by men who are in earnest-"
I^he sensation produced by the Duruiad and by the English
Bards and Scotch Rcvitwers was mild compared with the
sensation produced by the Xaiien; although the wit and
sarcasm of the Xaiiai is as milk and water compared with
the vitriol of the Dunciad and the English Bards.

Read by no stronger light than that which the appreciation
of wit as wit throws on these epigrams, and not by the strong
light of personal indignity or personal malice, the XcnUn
will appear very weak productions, and the sensation they
e:xcited must appear somewhat absurd. But a similar dis-
appointment meets the modem reader of the Anti-Jacobin.
We know that its pages were the terror of enemies, the
malicious joy of friends. We know that it was long held as
a repertory oi English wit, and the " Days of the Anti-
Jacobin " are mentioned by Englishmen as the days of the
Xenien are by Germans. Yet now that the persancd spice is
removed, we read both of them with a feeling of wonder at
their enormous influence. In the Xmi^n there are a few
epigrams which still titillate the palate, for they have the salt
of wit in their lines. There are many also which have no
pretension to wit, but are admirable expressions of critical
canons and philosof^c ideas. If good taste could not be
created by attacks on bad taste, there was at any rate some
hope that such a castigation would make certain places sore ;
and in this sense the Xenim did good ser\'ice.

1^ IS ¥

338 '^^^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book vt

CHAPTER II.

THE ROMANTIC SCHOOL.

** After the mad challenge of the Xmien^^ writes Goethe
to Schiller, '*we must busy ourselves only with great and
worthy works of Art, and shame our opponents by the mani-
festation of our poetical natures in forms of the Good and
Noble." This trumpet-sound found Schiller alert. The two
earnest men went earnestly to work, and produced their
matchless ballads, and their great poems, Hermann und
Dorothea and WalUnstein, The influence of these men on
each other was very peculiar. It made Goethe, in contradic-
tion to his native tendency, speculative and theoretical. It
made Schiller, in contradiction to his native tendency, realis-
tic. Had it not urged Goethe to rapid production, we might
have called the influence wholly noxious; but seeing what
was produced, we pause ere we condemn. " You have cre-
ated a new youth for me," writes Goethe, " and once more
restored me to Poetry, which I had almost entirely given up."
They were both much troubled with Philosophy at this epoch.
Kant and Spinoza occupied Schiller; Kant and scientific
theories occupied Goethe. They were both, moreover, becom-
ing more and more imbued with the spirit of ancient Art, and
were bent on restoring its principles. They were men of
genius, and therefore these two false tendencies — the tenden-
cy to Reflection and the tendency to Imitation — were less
hurtful to their works than to the national culture. Their
genius saved them, in spite of their errors ; but their errors
misled the nation. It is remarked by Gervinus, that Philos-
ophy was restored in the year lySt, and profoundly affected
all Germany. Let any one draw up a statistical table of our

I796J THE ROMANTIC SCHOOL, 339

literary productions^ and he will be amazed at the decadence
of Poetry during the last fifty years, in which Philosophy has
been supreme." Philosophy has distorted Poetry, and been
the curse of Criticism. It has vitiated German Literature ;
and it produced, in combination with the tendency to Imita-
tion, that brilliant error known as the Romantic School

A few words on this much-talked-of school may not be un-
acceptable. Like its offspring, L *AcoU Romantiquc in France,
it had a critical purpose which was good, and a retrograde
purpose which was bad. Both were insurgent against narrow
critical canons ; both proclaimed the superiority of Mediaeval
Art ; both sought in Catholicism and in national Legends
meanings profounder than those current in the literature of
the day. The desire to get deeper than Life itself led to a
disdain of reality and the present Hence the selection of
the Middle Ages and the East as regions for the ideal ; they
were not present, and they were not classical ; the classical
had already been tried, and against it the young Romantic
School was everywhere in arms.

In their crusade against the French, in their naturalization
of Shakespeare, and their furtherance of Herder's efforts to-
wards the restoration of a Ballad Literature and the taste for
Gothic Architecture, these Romanticists were with the stream.
They also flattered the national tendencies when they pro-
claimed " M)rthology and Poetry, symbolical Legend and Art,
to be one and indivisible,"* whereby it became clear that a
new Religion, or at any rare a new Mythology, was needed,
for " the deepest want and deficiency of all modem Art lies in
the fact that the artists have no Mythology." t [

While Fichte, Schelling, and Schleiermacher were tor-^
mented with the desire to create a new philosophy and a new

* F. ScHLEGEL, Gesprache iiber Poesie^ p. 263.
t Ibid., p. 274.

338 '^^^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book vt

CHAPTER II.

THE ROMANTIC SCHOOL.

** After the mad challenge of the XenUn^^ writes Goethe
to Schiller, "we must busy ourselves only with great and
worthy works of Art, and shame our opponents by the mani-
festation of our poetical natures in forms of the Good and
Noble." This tnunpet-sound found Schiller alert. The two
earnest men went earnestly to work, and produced their
matchless ballads, and their great poems, Hermann und
Dorothea and WalUnstein. The influence of these men on
each other was very peculiar. It made Goethe, in contradic-
tion to his native tendency, speculative and theoretical. It
made Schiller, in contradiction to his native tendency, realis-
tic. Had it not urged Goethe to rapid production, we might
have called the influence wholly noxious ; but seeing what
was produced, we pause ere we condemn. " You have cre-
ated a new youth for me," writes Goethe, " and once more
restored me to Poetry, which I had almost entirely given up."
They were both much troubled with Philosophy at this epoch.
Kant and Spinoza occupied Schiller; Kant and scientific
theories occupied Goethe. They were both, moreover, becom-
ing more and more imbued with the spirit of ancient Art, and
were bent on restoring its principles. They were men of
genius, and therefore these two false tendencies — the tenden-
cy to Reflection and the tendency to Imitation — were less
hurtful to their works than to the national culture. Their
genius saved them, in spite of their errors ; but their errors
misled the nation. It is remarked by Gervinus, that Philos-
ophy was restored in the year 1781, and profoundly affected
all Germany. Let any one draw up a statistical table of our

1796.] THE ROMANTIC SCHOOL, 339

literary productions, and he will be amazed at the decadence
of Poetry during the last fifty years, in which Philosophy has
been supreme." Philosophy has distorted Poetry, and been
the curse of Criticism. It has vitiated German Literature ;
and it produced, in combination with the tendency to Imita-
tion, that brilliant error known as the Romantic School

A few words on this much-talked-of school may not be un-
acceptable. Like its offspring, L ^&cole Romantiqtu in France,
it had a critical purpose which was good, and a retrograde
purpose which was bad. Both were insurgent against narrow
critical canons ; both proclaimed the superiority of Mediaeval
Art ; both sought in Catholicism and in national Legends
meanings profounder than those current in the literature of
the day. The desire to get deeper than Life itself led to a
disdain of reality and the present. Hence the selection of
the Middle Ages and the East as regions for the ideal ; they
were not present, and they were not classical ; the classical
had already been tried, and against it the young Romantic
School was everywhere in arms.

In their crusade against the French, in their naturalization
of Shakespeare, and their furtherance of Herder's efforts to-
wards the restoration of a Ballad Literature and the taste for
Gothic Architecture, these Romanticists were with the stream.
They also flattered the national tendencies when they pro-
claimed " Mythology and Poetry, symbolical Legend and Art,
to be one and indivisible,"* whereby it became clear that, a
new Religion, or at any rare a new Mythology, was needed,
for " the deepest want and deficiency of all modern Art lies in
the fact that the artists have no Mythology." t \

While Fichte, Schelling, and Schleiermacher were tor-'^^
mented with the desire to create a new philosophy and a new

* F. ScHLEGEL, Gcsprdche ubtr PoesUy p. 263.
t Ibid., p. 274.

338 '^^^ STORY OF GOETHES LIFE. [book vi;

CHAPTER II.

THE ROMANTIC SCHOOL.

** After the mad challenge of the Xenien^^ writes Goethe
to Schiller, '*we must busy ourselves only with great and
worthy works of Art, and shame our opponents by the mani-
festation of our poetical natures in forms of the Good and
Noble." This trumpet-sound found Schiller alert The two
earnest men went earnestly to work, and produced their
matchless ballads, and their great poems, Hermann und
Dorothea and Waiienstein, The influence of these men on
each other was very peculiar. It made Goethe, in contradic-
tion to his native tendency, speculative and theoretical. It
made Schiller, in contradiction to his native tendency, realis-
tic. Had it not urged Goethe to rapid production, we might
have called the influence wholly noxious ; but seeing what
was produced, we pause ere we condemn. " You have cre-
ated a new youth for me," writes Goethe, " and once more
restored me to Poetry, which I had almost entirely given up.**
They were both much troubled with Philosophy at this epoch.
Kant and Spinoza occupied Schiller; Kant and scientific
theories occupied Goethe. They were both, moreover, becom-
ing more and more imbued with the spirit of ancient Art, and
were bent on restoring its principles. They were men of
genius, and therefore these two false tendencies — the tenden-
cy to Reflection and the tendency to Imitation — were less
hurtful to their works than to the national culture. Their
genius saved them, in spite of their errors ; but their errors
misled the nation. It is remarked by Gervinus, that Philos-
ophy was restored in the year 1781, and profoundly affected
all Germany. Let any one draw up a statistical table of our

1796.] THE ROMANTIC SCHOOL, 339

literary productions, and he will be amazed at the decadence
of Foetiy during the last fifty years, in which Philosophy has
been supreme." Philosophy has distorted Poetry, and been
the curse of Criticism. It has vitiated German Literature ;
and it produced, in combination with the tendency to Imita-
tion, that brilliant error known as the Romantic School

A few words on this much-talked-of school may not be un-
acceptable. Like its ofispring, L *AcoU Romantiqtte in France,
it had a critical purpose which was good, and a retrograde
purpose which was bad. Both were insurgent against narrow
critical canons ; both proclaimed the superiority of Mediaeval
Art ; both sought in Catholicism and in national Legends
meanings profounder than those current in the literature of
the day. The desire to get deeper than Life itself led to a
disdain of reality and the present Hence the selection of
the Middle Ages and the East as regions for the ideal ; they
were not present, and they were not classical ; the classical
had already been tried, and against it the young Romantic
School was everywhere in arms.

In their crusade against the French, in their naturalization
of Shakespeare, and their furtherance of Herder's efforts to-
wards the restoration of a Ballad Literature and the taste for
Gothic Architecture, these Romanticists were with the stream.
They also flattered the national tendencies when they pro-
claimed " M)rthology and Poetry, symbolical Legend and Art,
to be one and indivisible,*** whereby it became clear that a
new Religion, or at any rare a new Mythology, was needed,
for " the deepest want and deficiency of all modem Art lies in
the fact that the artists have no Mythology." t !

While Fichte, Schelling, and Schleiermacher were tor-:
mented with the desire to create a new philosophy and a new

* F. ScHLEGEL, Gesprache uber P&esie, p. 263.
t Ibid., p. 274.

338 '^^^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book vii

CHAPTER II.

THE ROMANTIC SCHOOL.

** After the mad challenge of the XmUn^* writes Goethe
to Schiller, "we must busy ourselves only with great and
worthy works of Art, and shame our opponents by the mani-
festation of our poetical natures in forms of the Good and
Noble." This trumpet-sound found Schiller alert The two
earnest men went earnestly to work, and produced their
matchless ballads, and their great poems, Hermann und
Dorothea and WalUnstein. The influence of these men on
each other was very peculiar. It made Goethe, in contradic-
tion to his native tendency, speculative and theoretical. It
made Schiller, in contradiction to his native tendency, realis-
tic. Had it not urged Goethe to rapid production, we might
have called the influence wholly noxious ; but seeing what
was produced, we pause ere we condemn. " You have cre-
ated a new youth for me," writes Goethe, " and once more
restored me to Poetry, which I had almost entirely given up."
They were both much troubled with Philosophy at this epoch.
Kant and Spinoza occupied Schiller; Kant and scientific
theories occupied Goethe. They were both, moreover, becom-
ing more and more imbued with the spirit of ancient Art, and
were bent on restoring its principles. They were men of
genius, and therefore these two false tendencies — the tenden-
cy to Reflection and the tendency to Imitation — were less
hurtful to their works than to the national culture. Their
genius saved them, in spite of their errors ; but their errors
misled the nation. It is remarked by Gervinus, that Philos-
ophy was restored in the year 1781, and profoundly affected
all Germany. Let any one draw up a statistical table of our

1796.] THE ROMANTIC SCHOOL. 339

literary productions, and he will be amazed at the decadence
of Poetry during the last fifty years, in which Philosophy has
been supreme." Philosophy has distorted Poetry, and been
the curse of Criticism. It has vitiated German Literature \
and it produced, in combination with the tendency to Imita-
tion, that brilliant error known as the Romantic School

A few words on this much-talked-of school may not be un-
acceptable. Like its offspring, L ^Acole Rotnantique in France,
it had a critical purpose which was good, and a retrograde
purpose which was bad. Both were insurgent against narrow
critical canons ; both proclaimed the superiority of Mediaeval
Art ; both sought in Catholicism and in national Legends
meanings profounder than those current in the literature of
the day. The desire to get deeper than Life itself led to a
disdain of reality and the present Hence the selection of
the Middle Ages and the East as regions for the ideal ; they
were not present, and they were not classical ; the classical
had already been tried, and against it the young Romantic
School was everywhere in arms.

In their crusade against the French, in their naturalization
of Shakespeare, and their furtherance of Herder's efforts to-
wards the restoration of a Ballad Literature and the taste for
Gothic Architecture, these Romanticists were with the stream.
They also flattered the national tendencies when they pro-
claimed " Mythology and Poetry, symbolical Legend and Art,
to be one and indivisible,"* whereby it became clear that a
new Religion, or at any rare a new Mythology, was needed,
for " the deepest want and deficiency of all modem Art lies in
the fact that the artists have no Mythology." t [

While Fichte, Schelling, and Schleiermacher were tor-
mented with the desire to create a new philosophy and a new

* F. SCHLEGEL, Gesprache ubtr PoesUy p. 263.
t Ibid., p. 274.

340 ^-^^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book vl

religion, it soon became evident that a Mythology was not to
be created by programme ; and as a Mythology was indispen-
sable, the Romanticists betook themselves to Catholicism,
with its saintly Legends and saintly Heroes ; some of them,
as Tieck and A. W. Schlegel, out of little more than poetic
enthusiasm and dilettantism : others, as F. Schlegel and
Werner, with thorough conviction, accepting Cathohcism and
all its consequences.

Solger had called Irony the daughter of Mysticism ; and
how highly these Romanticists prized Mysticism is known to
all readers of Novalis. To be mystical was to be poetical as
well as profound ; and critics glorified mediaeval monstrosities
because of the deep spiritualism which stood in contrast with
the pagan materialism of Goethe and Schiller. Once com-
menced, this movement carried what was true in it rapidly
onwards to the confines of nonsense. Art became the hand-
maid of Religion. The canon was laid down that only in the
service of Religion had Art ever flourished, — only in that
service could it flourish : a truth from which strange conclu-
sions were drawn. Art became a propaganda. Fra Angelico
and Calderon suddenly became idols. Werner was pro-
claimed a Colossus by Wackenroder, who wrote his Herzen-
sergUssungeneines Kunstliebenden Klosterhruders, with Tieck's
aid, to prove, said Goethe, that because some monks were
artists, all artists should turn monks. Then it was that men
looked to Faith for miracles in Art. Devout study of the
Bible was thought to be the readiest means of rivalling Fra
Angelico and Van Eyck ; inspiration was sought in a hair-shirt.
Catholicism had a Mythology, and painters went over in
crowds to the Roman Church. Cornelius and Overbeck lent
real genius to the attempt to revive the dead forms of early
Christian Art, as Goethe and Schiller did to revive the dead
forms of Grecian Art. Overbeck, who painted in a cloister,

17971 THE ROMANTIC SCHOOL. 341

was so thoroughly penetrated by the ascetic spirit, that he re-
fused to draw from the living model, lest it should make his
works too naturalistic; for to be true to Nature was tanta-
mount to being false to the higher tendencies of Spiritualism.
Some had too much of the artistic instinct to carry their
principles into these exaggerations ; but others less gifted, and
more bigoted, carried the principles into every excess. A
band of these reformers established themselves in Rome,
and astonished the Catholics quite as much as the Protes-
tants. Cesar Masini, in his work, Dei Furisti in Pittura^
thus describes them : " Several young men came to Rome
from Northern Germany in 1809. They abjured Protestant-
ism, adopted the costume of the Middle Ages, and began
to preach the doctrine that painting had died out with
Giotto, and, to revive it, a recurrence to the old style was
necessary. Under such a mask of piety they concealed
their nullity. Servile admirers of the rudest periods in Art,
they declared the pygmies were giants, and wanted to bring
us back to the dry hard style and barbarous imperfection of a
Buffalmacco, Calandrino, Paolo Uccello, when we had a
Raphael, a Titian, and a Correggio." In spite of their exag-
gerated admiration of the Trecentisti, in spite of a doctrine
which was fundamentally vicious, the Romanticists made a
decided revolution, not only in Literature but in Painting, and
above all in our general estimate of painters. If we now learn
to look at the exquisite works of Fra Angelico, Ghirlandajo,
and Masaccio with intense pleasure, and can even so far
divest ourselves of the small prejudices of criticism, as to be
deeply interested in Giotto, Gozzoli, or Guide da Arezzo,
feeling in them the divine artistic faculty which had not yet
mastered artistic expression, it is to the preaching of the Ro-
manticists that we owe this source of noble enjoyment. In
poetry the Romanticists were failures, bi|t in painting they

342 THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book vl

achieved marked success. Whatever may be thought of the
German School, it must be confessed that before Overbeck,
Cornelius, Schadow, Hess, Lessing, Hiibner, Sohn, and Kaul-
bach, the Germans had no modem painters at all ; and they
have in these men painters of very remarkable power.

To return to Goethe. He was led by Schiller into endless
theoretical discussions. They philosophized on the limits of
epic and dramatic poetry ; read and discussed Aristotle's Poet-
ics : discussions which resulted in Goethe's essay, Ueber epische
und dramatische Foesie; and, as we gather from their corre-
spondence, scarcely ventured to take a step until they had seen
how Theory justified it. Goethe read with enthusiasm Wolf's
Prolegomena to Homer, and at once espoused its principles.
The train of thought thus excited led him from the origin of
epic songs to the origin of the Hebrew songs, and Eichhom's
Introduction to the Old Testament led him to attempt a new ex-
planation of the wanderings of the people of Israel, which he
subsequently inserted in the notes to the Westostliche Divan.

Nor was he only busy with epical theories ; he also gave
himself to the production of epics. Hermann und Dorothea^
the most perfect of his poems, was written at this time.
Achilleis was planned and partly executed ; Die Jagd was
also planned, but left unwritten, and subsequently became the
prose tale known as Die Novelle, This year of 1797 is more-
over memorable as the year of ballads, in which he and
Schiller, in friendly rivalr)% gave Germany lyrical masterpieces.
His share may be estimated, when we learn that in this year
were written the Bride of Corinth, the Zauberlehrlingy der Gott
und die Bajadere, and the Schatzgrdber.

In the same year Faust was once more taken up. The
Dedication, the Prologue in Heaven, and the Intermezzo of
Oberon and Titania^s Marriage ^tx^ written. But while he
was in this mood, Hirt came to Weimar, and in the lively

1798] THE ROMANTIC SCHOOL, 343

reminiscences of Italy, and the eager discussions of Art which
his arrival awakened, all the northern phantoms were exor-
cised by southern magic. He gave up Fausty and wrote an
essay on the Laokoan. He began once more to pine for
Italy. This is characteristic of his insatiable hunger for
knowledge; he never seemed to have mastered material
enough. Whereas Schiller, so much poorer in material, and
so much more inclined to production, thought this Italian
journey would only embarrass him with fresh objects ; and
urged Meyer to dissuade him from it He did not go ; and I
think Schiller's opinion was correct : at the point now reached
he had nothing to do but to give a form to the materials he
had accumulated.

In the July of this year he, for the third time, made a jour-
ney into Switzerland. In Frankfort he introduced Christiane
and her boy to his Mother, who received them very heartily,
and made the few days' stay there very agreeable. It is
unnecessary for us to follow him on his journey, which is
biographically interesting only in respect to the plan of an
epic on William Tell which he conceived, and for which he
studied the localities. The plan was never executed. He
handed it over to Schiller for his drama on that subject,
giving him at the same time the idea of the character of Tell,
and the studies of localities, which Schiller managed to em-
ploy with a mastery quite astonishing to his friend. The
same brotherly co-operation is seen in the composition of
Wallenstein. It is not true, as was currently supposed in Ger-
many, that Goethe wrote any portions of that work. He has
told us himself he only wrote two unimportant lines. But his
counsel aided Schiller through every scene ; and the bringing
it on the stage was to him like a triumph of his own.

In the spring of 1798 Schelling's Philosophy of Nature, and
his own plans for a History of the Theory of Colors, lured

344 ^^^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE, [book vl

him from poetry ; but Schiller again brought him back to it
Faust was resumed, and the last tragic scenes of the First
Part were written. In the summer he was much at Jena with
Schiller, consequently with poetry. Achilles and Tell, the
ancient and the modem world, as Schafer remarks, struggled
for priority, but neither obtained it, because he was still per-
plexed in his epic theories. The studies of the Iliad had
'^ hunted him through the circle of enthusiasm, hope, insight,
and despair." No sooner did he leave Jena than, as he con-
fessed, he was drawn by another polarity. Accordingly, we
see him busy with an art-journal, the Propyldm. He was
also busy with the alteration of the Theatre, the boards of
which, on the 12th of October, 1798, were made forever
memorable by the production of Wallenstdri s Camp and
Prologue. On the 30th January, 1799, the birthday of the
Duchess Luise, the Piccolomini was produced ; and, on the
20th of April, WallensteifCs Tod.

It was in this year that a young advocate, in Edinburgh,
put forth a translation of Gotz von Berlichingm^ and preluded
to a fame as great as Goethe's own ; and it was in the Decem-
ber of this year that Karl August's generosity enabled Schiller
to quit Jena, and come to Weimar for the rest of his life,
there in uninterrupted intercourse with Goethe to pursue the
plans so dear to both, especially in the formation of a national
stage.

CHAPTER III.

Schiller's last years.

In the year 1800 Schiller setded at Weimar, there to end
his days in noble work with his great friend. It may interest

i8oo.] SCHILLER'S LAST YEARS. 345

the reader to have a glimpse of Goethe's daily routine ; the
more so, as such a glimpse is not to be had from any pub-
lished works.

He rose at seven, sometimes •earlier, after a sound and
prolonged sleep ; for, like Thorwaldsen, he had a " talent for
sleeping," only surpassed by his talent for continuous work.
Till eleven he worked without interruption. A cup of choco-
late was then brought, and he resumed work till one. At two
he dined. This meal was the important meal of the day.
His appetite was immense. Even on the days when he
complained of not being hungry, he ate much more than most
men. Puddings, sweets, and cakes were always welcome.
He sat a long while over his wine, chatting gayly to some
friend or other (for he never dined alone), or to one of the
actors, whom he often had with him, after dinner, to read
over their parts, and to take his instructions. He was fond
of wine, and drank daily his two or three bottles.

Lest this statement should convey a false impression, I
hasten to recall to the reader's recollection the habits of our
fathers in respect of drinking. It was no unusual thing to be
a "three-bottle man" in those days in England, when the
three bottles were of Port or Burgundy; and Gk)ethe, a
Rhinelander, accustomed from boyhood to wine, drank a
wine which his English contemporaries would have called
water. The amount he drank never did more than exhilarate
him ; never made him unfit for work or for society.

Over his wine he sat some hours : no such thing as des-
sert was seen upon his table in those days : not even the
customary coffee afler dinner. His mode of living was
extremely simple ; and even when persons of very modest
circumstances burned wax, two poor tallow candles were all
that could be seen in his rooms. In the evening he went
often to the theatre, and there his customary glass of punch
IS*

346 THE STORY OF GOETHE* S LIFE, [book vl

was brought at six o'clock. When he was not at the theatre,
he received friends at home. Between eight and nine a
frugal supper was laid, but he never ate anjrthing except
a little salad or preserves. Bf ten o'clock he was usually
in bed.

Many visitors came to him. From the letters of Chris-
tiane to Meyer we gather that he must have exercised hospi-
tality on a large scale, since about every month 50 pounds of
butter are ordered from Bremen, and the cases of wine have
frequently to be renewed. It was the pleasure and the pen-
alty of his fame, that all persons who came near Weimar
made an effort to see him. Sometimes these visitors were
persons of great interest ; oftener they were fatiguing bores,
or men with pretensions more offensive than dulness. To
those who pleased him he was inexpressibly charming ; to
the others he was stately, even to stiffness. While, therefore,
we hear some speak of him with an enthusiasm such as genius
alone can excite, we hear others giving vent to the feelings of
disappointment, and even of offence, created by his manners.
The stately minister exasperated those who went to see the
impassioned poet. As these visitors were frequently authors,
it was natural they should avenge their wounded self-love in
criticisms and epigrams. To cite but one example among
many : Burger, whom Goethe had assisted in a pecuniary
way, came to Weimar, and announced himself in this prepos-
terous style, " You are Goethe, — I am Burger," evidently
believing he was thereby maintaining his own greatness, and
offering a brotherly alliance. Goethe received him with the
most diplomatic politeness and the most diplomatic for-
mality ; instead of plunging into discussions of poetry, he
would be brought to talk of nothing but the condition of the
Gottingen University, and the number of its students. Bur-
ger went away furious, avenged this reception in an epi-

i8oa] SCHILLER*S LAST YEARS. 347

gram, and related to all comers the experience he had had
of the proud, cold, diplomatic Geheimerath. Others had the
like experience to recount ; and a public, ever greedy of
scandal, ever willing to believe a great man is a small man,
echoed these voices in swelling chorus. Something of
offence lay in the very nature of Goethe's bearing, which was
stiff, even to haughtiness. His appearance was so imposing,
that Heine humorously relates how, on the occasion of his
first interview with him, an elaborately prepared speech was
entirely driven from his memory by the Jupiter-like presence,
and he could only stammer forth " a remark on the excel-
lence of the plums which grew on the road from Jena to Wei-
mar." An imposing presence is irritating to mean natures.
Goethe might have gained universal applause, if, like Jean
Paul, he had worn no cravat, and had let his hair hang loose
upon his shoulders.

The mention of Jean Paul leads me to quote his impres-
sion of Goethe. " I went timidly to meet him. Every one
had described him as cold to everything upon earth. Frau von
Kalb said he no longer admires anything, not even himself.
Every word is ice. Nothing but curiosities warm the fibres
of his heart ; so I asked Knebel if he could petrify me, or
incrust me in some mineral spring, that I might present
myself as a statue or a fossil." How one hears the accents
of village gossip in these sentences I To Weimarian igno-
rance Goethe's enthusiasm for statues and natural products
seemed monstrous. " His house," Jean Paul continues, " or
rather his palace, pleased me ; it is the only one in Weimar in
the Italian style ; with such a staircase ! A Pantheon full of
pictures and statues. Fresh anxiety oppressed me. At last
the god entered, cold, monosyllabic. *The French are
drawing towards Paris,' said Knebel. * H'm I' said the god.
His face is massive and animated ; his eye a ball of light t

348 "^^^ STORY OF COETHSS LIFE. [book vi.

At last, as conversation turned on art, he warmed, and was
himselfl His conversation was not so rich and flowing as
Herder's, but penetrating, acute, and calm. Finally, he
read, or rather performed, an unpublished poem, in which
the flames of his heart burst through the external crust of
ice ; so that he greeted my enthusiasm with a pressure of the
hand. He did it again as I took leave, and urged me to
call. By heaven 1 we shall love each other 1 He considers
his poetic career closed. There is nothing comparable to
his reading. It is like deep-toned thunder blended with
whispering rain-drops."

Now let us hear what Jean Paul says of Schiller. " I went
yesterday to see the stony Schiller, from whom all strangers
spring back as from a precipice. His form is wasted, yet
severely powerful, and veiy angular. He is full of acumen,
but without love. His conversation is as excellent as his
writings." He never repeated this visit to Schiller, who
doubtless quite subscribed to what Goethe wrote: "I am
glad you have seen Richter. His love of truth, and his wish
for self-improvement, have prepossessed me in his favor ; but
the social man is a sort of theoretical man, and I doubt if he
will approach us in a practical way."

If to pretenders and to strangers Goethe was cold and re-
pellent, he was warm and attractive enough to all with whom
he could spmpathize. Brotherly to Schiller and Herder, he
was fatherly in his loving discernment and protection to such
men as Hegel, then an unknown teacher, and Voss, the son
of the translator of Homer.* He excited passionate attach-
ments in all who lived in his intimacy; and passionate
hatred in many whom he would not admit to intimacy.

The opening of this century found Schiller active and

* Note Voss's enthusiastic gratitude in his Mittkeilungen uber Goethe
und Schiller.

i8oo.] SCHILLER'S LAST YEARS. 345

anxious to stimulate the activity of his friend. But theories
hampered the genius of Goethe; and various occupations
disturbed it. He was not, like Schiller, a reflective, critical
poet, but a spontaneous, instinctive poet The consequence
was, that Reflection not only retarded, but misled him into
Symbolism, — the dark comer of that otherwise sunny palace
of Art which he has reared. He took up Fausty and wrote
the classic intermezzo of HeUna. He was very busy witli
the Theatre, and with Science ; and at the close of the year
fell into a dangerous illness, which created much anxiety in
the Weimar circle. He recovered in a few weeks, and
busied himself with the translation of Theophrastus on Colors^
with Faustj and the Natiiriiche Tochier.

While the two chiefs of Literature were in noble emulation
and brotherly love, working together, each anxious for the
success of the other, the nation divided itself into two parties,
disputing which was the greater poet of the two ; as in Rome
the artists dispute about Raphael and Michael Angelo. " It
is difficult to appreciate one such genius," says Goethe of the
two painters, " still more difficult to appreciate both. Hence
people lighten the task by partisanship." The partisanship
in the present case was fierce, and has continued. Instead
of following Goethe's advice, and rejoicing that it had two
such poets to boast of, the public has gone on crying up one
at the expense of the other. Schiller himself, with charming
modesty, confessed his inferiority ; and in one of his letters to
Komer he says : " Compared with Goethe I am but a poetical
bungler, — gegen Goethe bin und bleW ich ein poetischer Lump''
But the majority have placed him higher than his rival, at
least higher in their hearts. Gervinus has remarked a cu-
rious contradiction in the fate of their works. Schiller, who
wrote for men, is the favorite of women and youths ; Goethe,
who remained in perpetual youth, is only relished by men.

350 THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE, [book vl

The secret of this is, that Schiller had those passions and en-
thusiasms which captivate youth. Goethe told Eckermann
that his works never could be popular; and, except the
minor poems and Fausty there are none of his productions
which equal the popularity of Schiller's.

While discussing Physical Science with Ritter, Compara-
tive Anatomy with Loder, Optics with Himly, and making
observations on the Moon, the plan of a great poem, De Na-
tura RcruMy rose in Goethe's mind, and like so many other
plans, remained a plan. Intercourse with the great philolo-
gist Wolff led him a willing student into Antiquity ; and from
Voss he tried to master the principles of Metre with the zeal
of a philologist. There is something very piquant in the
idea of the greatest poet of his nation, the most musical mas-
ter of verse in all possible forms, trying to acquire a theoretic
knowledge of that which on instinct he did to perfection. It
is characteristic of his new tendency to theorize on poetry.

In December, 1803, Weimar had a visitor whose rank is
high among its illustrious guests, — Madame de Stael. Na-
poleon would not suffer her to remain in France ; she was
brought by Benjamin Constant to the German Athens, that
she might see and know something of the men her work De
VAlUmagne was to reveal to her countrymen. It is easy to
ridicule Madame de Stael ; to call her, as Heine does, " i
whirlwind in petticoats," and a " Sultana of mind." But
Germans should be grateful to her for that book, which still
remains one of the best books written about Germany ; and
the lover of letters will not forget that her genius has, in
various departments of literature, rendered illustrious the
power of the womanly intellect Goethe and Schiller, whom
she stormed with cannonades of talk, spoke of her intellect
with great admiration. Of all living creatures he had seen,
Schiller said, she was "the most talkative, the most comba-

i8o3.] SCHILLER'S LAST YEARS, 351

tive, the most gesticulative " ; but she was " also the most
cultivated, and the most gifted." The contrast between her
French culture and his German culture, and the difficulty he
had in expressing himself in French, did not prevent his be-
ing much interested. In the sketch of her he sent to Goethe
it is well said, " She insists on explaining everything, under-
standing everything, measuring ever)rthing. She admits of
no Darkness, nothing Incommensurable; and where her
torch throws no light, there nothing can exist. Hence her
horror for the Ideal Philosophy, which she thinks leads to
mysticism and superstition. For what we call poetry she
has no sense ; she can only appreciate what is passionate,
rhetorical,* universal. She does not prize what is false, but
does not always perceive what is true."

The Duchess Amalia was enchanted with her, and the
Duke wrote to Goethe, who was at Jena, begging him to
come over, and be seen by her, which Goethe very positively
declined. He said, if she wished very much to see him, and
would come to Jena, she should be very heartily welcomed ;
a comfortable lodging and a bourgeoise table would be of-
fered her, and every day they could have some hours together
when his business was over ; but he could not undertake to
go to court and into society ; he did not feel himself strong
enough. In the .beginning of 1804, however, he came to
Weimar, and there he made her acquaintance ; that is to say,
he received her in his own house, at first iHe-h-tUey and after-
■ wards in small circles of friends.

Except when she managed to animate him by her para-
doxes or wit, he was cold and formal to her, even more so
than to other remarkable people ; and he has told us the
reason. Rousseau had been drawn into a correspondence
with two women, who addressed themselves to him as
admirers ; he had shown himself in this correspondence by

352 '^^^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE, [book vl

no means to his advantage, now (1803) that the letters
appeared in print* Goethe had heard or read of this cor-
respondence; and Madame de Stael had frankly told him
she intended to print his conversation.t This was enough
to make him ill at ease in her society; and although she
said he was '^ un homme d'un esprit prodigieux en conversa-
tion .... quand on le sait faire parler il est admirable/' she
never saw the real, but a factitious Goethe. By dint of
provocation — and champagne — she managed to make him
talk brilliantly ; she never got him to talk to her seriously.
On the 29th of February she left Weimar, to the great relief
both of Goethe and Schiller.

Nothing calls for notice during the rest of this year, except
the translation of an unpublished work by Diderot, Rameatis
Nephew^ and the commencement of the admirable work on
Winckeltnann and his Age, The beginning of 1805 found
him troubled with a presentiment that either he or Schiller
would die in this year. Both were dangerously ill. Chris-
tiane, writing to her friend Nicolaus Meyer, says, that for
the last three months the Geheimerath has scarcely had a
day's health, and at times it seemed as if he must die. It
was a touching scene when Schiller, a little recovered from
his last attack, entered the sick-room of his friend. They
walked up to each other, and, without speaking a word, ex-
pressed their joy at meeting in a long and manly kiss. Both
hoped with the return of spring for return of health and

* The correspondence alluded to can be no other than that of Rous-
seau with Madame de la Tour-Franqueville and her friend, whose name
is still unknown ; it is one of the most interesting among the many
interesting correspondences of women with celebrated men. A charming
notice of it may be found in St. Beuve's Causeries du Lundi, Vol. II.

t In the Tag und Jakres Hefte, 1804 {Werke, XXVII. p. 143), the
reader will find Goethe's account of Madame de Stael and her relation
to him.

iSosJ SCHILLER'S LAST YEARS. 353

power. Schiller meanwhile was translating the Phhire of
Racine ; Goethe was translating the Rameau'% Nephew^ and
writing the history of the Farbmlehre.

The spring was coming, but on its blossoms Schiller's eyes
were not to rest. On the 30th of April the friends parted for
the last time. Schiller was going to the theatre. Goethe, too
unwell to accompany him, said good by at the door of Schil-
ler's house. During Schiller's illness Goethe was much
depressed. Voss found him once pacing up and down his
garden, crying by himself. He mastered his emotion a^
Voss told him of Schiller's state, and only said, " Fate is
pitiless, and man but little."

It really seemed as if the two friends were to be united in
the grave as they had been in life. Goethe grew worse.
From Schiller life was fast ebbing. On the 8th of May he
was given over. " His sleep that night was disturbed ; his
mind again wandered ; with the morning he had lost all
consciousness. He spoke incoherently and chiefly in Latin.
His last drink was champagne. Towards three in the after-
noon came on the last exhaustion ; the breath began to fail.
Towards four he would have called for naphtha, but the last
syllable died upon his hps ; finding himself speechless, he
motioned that he wished to write something ; but his hand
could only trace three letters, in which was yet recognizable
the distinct character of his writing. His wife knelt by his
side : he pressed her hand. His sister-in-law stood with the
physician at the foot of the bed, applying warm cushions to
the cold feet. Suddenly a sort of electric shock came over
his countenance ; the head fell back ; the deepest calm set-
tled on his face. His features were as those of one in a soft
sleep.

" The news of Schiller's death soon spread through Wei-
mar. The theatre was closed ; men gathered into groups.

354 ^^^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book vi.

Each felt as if he had lost his dearest friend To Goethe,
enfeebled himself by long illness, and again stricken by some
relapse, no one had the courage to mention the death of his
beloved rival. When the tidings came to Henry Meyer, who
was with him, Meyer left the house abruptly lest his grief
might escape him. No one else had courage to break the
intelligence. Goethe perceived that the members of his
household seemed embarrassed and anxious to avoid him.
He divined something of the fact, and said at last, *I see —
Schiller must be very ill.' That night they overheard him, —
the serene man who seemed almost above human affection,
who disdained to reveal to others whatever grief he felt when
his son died, — they overheard Goethe weep! In the morn-
ing he said to a friend, * Is it not true that Schiller was very
ill yesterday ? ' The friend (it was a woman) sobbed. * He
is dead,' said Goethe faintly. * You have said it,' was the
answer. *He is dead,' repeated Goethe, and covered his
face with his hands." *

" The half of my existence is gone from me," he wrote to
Zelter. His first thoughts were to continue the Demetrius in
the spirit in which Schiller had planned it, so that Schiller's
mind might still be with him, still working at his side. But
the effort was vain. He could do nothing. " My diary," he
says, '' is a blank at this period ; the white pages intimate the
blank in my existence. In those days I took no interest in
anything."

♦ Bulwer's Life of SchUler.

BOOK THE SEVENTH.

I 80s TO 1832.

-♦-

CHAPTFR I.

THE BATTLE OF JENA.

The death of Schiller left Goethe very lonely. It was mqre
than the loss of a friend ; it was the loss also of an energetic
stimulus which had urged him to production ; and in the
activity of production he lived an intenser life. During the
long laborious years which followed, — years of accumulation,
of study, of fresh experience, and of varied plans, — we shall
see him produce works of which many might be proud ; but
the noonday splendor of his life has passed, and the light
which we admire is the calm effulgence of the setting sun.
During the following month, Gall visited Jena, in the first
successful eagerness of propagating his system of phrenology,
which was then a starding novelty. All who acknowledge
the very large debt which physiology and psychology owe to
Gall's labors (which acknowledgment by no means implies
an acceptance of the premature, and, in many respects,
imperfect, system founded on those labors) will be glad to
observe that Goethe not only attended Gall's lectures, but in
private conversations showed so much sympathy, and such
ready appreciation, that Gall visited him in his sick-room,
and dissected the brain in his presence, communicating all
the new views to which he had been led. Instead of meet-
ing this theory with ridicule, contempt, and the opposition of
ancient prejudices, — as men of science, no less than men of

356 "^^^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE, [book vil

the world, were and are still wont to meet it, — Goethe saw
at once the importance of Gall's mode of dissection (since
generally adopted), and of his leading views ; * although he
also saw that science was not sufficiently advanced for a
correct verdict to be delivered. GalFs doctrine pleased him
because it determined the true position of psychology in the
study of man. It pleased him because it connected man
with Nature more intimately than was done in the old
schools, showing the identity of all mental manifestation in
the animal kingdom.f

But these profound and delicate investigations were in the
following year interrupted by the roar of cannon. On the
14th of October, at seven o'clock in the morning, the thunder
of distant artillery alarmed the inhabitants of Weimar. The
battle of Jena had begun. Goethe heard the cannon with
terrible distinctness ; but as it slackened towards noon, he sat
down to dinner as usual. Scarcely had he sat down, when
the cannon burst over their heads. Immediately the table
was cleared. Riemer found him walking up and down the
garden. The balls whirled over the house ; the bayonets of
the Prussians in flight gleamed over the garden wall. The
French had planted a few guns on the heights above Weimar,
from which they could fire on the town. It was a calm bright
day. In the streets everything appeared dead. Every one
had retreated under cover. Now and then the boom of a
cannon broke silence ; the balls, hissing through the air,
occsionally struck a house. The birds were singing sweetly
on the esplanade ; and the deep repose of nature formed an
awful contrast to the violence of war.

* Compare Freundschaftliche Briefe von Goethe und seine Frau an N.
Meyer^ p. 19.

t Gall's assertion that Goethe was born for political Oratory more
than for Poetry has much amused those who know Goethe's dislike of
politics ; and does not, indeed, seem a very happy hit.

i8o6.] THE BATTLE OF JENA. 357

In the midst of this awful stillness a few French hussars
rode into the city, to ascertain if the enemy were there.
Presently a whole troop galloped in. A young officer came
to Goethe to assure him that his house would be secure from
pillage ; it had been selected as the quarters of Marshal
Augereau. The young hussar who brought this message yas
Lili's son ! He accompanied Goethe to the palace. Mean-
while several of the troopers had made themselves at home in
Goethe's house. Many houses were in flames. Cellars were
broken open. The pillage began.

Goethe returned from the palace, but without the Marshal,
who had not yet arrived. They waited for him till deep in
the night The doors were bolted and the family retired to
rest About midnight two tirailleurs knocked at the door and
insisted on admittance. In vain they were told the house
was full, and the Marshal expected. They threatened to
break in the windows, if the door were not opened. They
were admitted. Wine was set before them, which they drank
like troopers, and then they insisted on seeing their host
They were told he was in bed. No matter ; he must get up ;
they had a fancy to see him. In such cases, resistance is
futile. Riemer went up and told Goethe, who, putting on his
dressing-gown, came majestically down stairs, and by his
presence considerably awed his drunken guests, who were as
polite as French soldiers can be when they please. They
talked to him ; made him drink with them, with friendly clink
of glasses ; and suffered him to retire once more to his room.
In a little while, however, heated with wine, they insisted on
a bed. The other troopers were glad of the floor ; but these
two would have nothing less than a bed. They stumbled up
stairs; broke into Goethe's room, and there a struggle ensued,,
which had a very serious aspect Christiane, who throughout
displayed great courage and presence of mind, procured a

jcg THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE, [book vii.

rescue, and the intruders were finally dragged from the room.
They then threw themselves on the bed kept for the Marshal;
and no threats would move them. In the morning the Mar-
shal arrived, and sentinels protected the house. But even
under this protection, the disquiet may be imagined when we
rea^ that twelve casks of wine were drunk in three days ;
that eight-and-twenty beds were made up for officers and sol-
diers, and that the other costs of this billeting amounted to
more than 2,000 dollars.

The sun shining with continuous autumnal splendor in
these days looked down on terrible scenes in Weimar. The
pillage was prolonged, so that even the palace was almost
stripped of the necessaries of life. In this extremity, while
houses were in flames close to the palace, the Duchess Luise
manifested that dauntless courage which produced a profound
impression on Napoleon, as he entered Weimar, surrounded
by all the terrors of conquest, and was received at the top of
the palace stairs by her, — calm, dignified, unmoved. " Voild'
une femme d laquelU mhne tws deux cent canons rCont pu faire
peurT^ he said to Rapp. She pleaded for her people ; vin-
dicated her husband ; and by her constancy and courage pre-
vailed over the conquerer, who was deeply incensed with the
Duke, and repeatedly taunted him with the fact that he
spared him solely out of respect for the Duchess.

The rage of Napoleon against the Duke was as unwise as
it was intemperate ; but I do not allude to it for the purpose
of showing how petty the great conqueror could be ; I allude to
it for the purpose of quoting the characteristic outburst which
it drew from Goethe. " Formed by nature to be a calm and
impartial spectator of events, even I am exasperated," said
Goethe to Falk, " when I see men required to perform the
impossible. That the Duke assists wounded Prussian officers
robbed of their pay; that he lent the lion-hearted Bliicher

i8o6.] THE BATTLE OF JENA, 359

four thousand dollars after the battle of Liibeck, — that is
what you call a conspiracy I — that seems to you a fit subject
for reproach and accusation ! Let us suppose that to-day
misfortune befalls the grand army ; what would a general or
a field-marshal be worth in the Emperor's eyes, who would
act precisely as our Duke has acted under these circumstan-
ces ? I tell you the Duke shall act as he acts ! He must act
so ! He would do great injustice if he ever acted otherwise!
Yes ; and even were he thus to lose country and subjects,
crown and sceptre, like his ancestor, the unfortunate John ;
yet must he not deviate one hand's breadth from his noble
manner of thinking, and fi-om that which the duty of a man
and a prince prescribes in the emergency. Misfortune !
What is misfortune ? This is a misfortime, — that a prince
should be compelled to endure such things from foreigners.
And if it came to the same pass with him as with his ancestor,
Duke John, — if his ruin were certain and irretrievable, let not
that dismay us: we will take our staff in our hands, and
accompany our master in adversity, as old Lucas Kranach
did : we will never forsake him. The women and children,
when they meet us in the villages, will cast down their eyes
and weep, and say to one another, * That is old Goethe, and
the former Duke of Weimar, whom the French Emperor
drove from his throne, because he was so true to his friends
in misfortune ; because he visited his uncle on his death-bed ;
because he would not let his old comrades and brothers in
arms starve ! ' "

" At this," adds Falk, " the tears rolled in streams down his
cheeks. After a pause, having recovered himself a little, he :
continued : * I will sing for bread ! I will turn strolling ballad- I
singer, and put our misfortunes into verse ! I will wander
into every village and into every school wherever the name of
Goethe is known ; I will chant the dishonor of Germany, and

360 "^^^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE, [book vii.

the children shall learn the song of our shame till they are
men ; and thus they shall sing my master upon his throne
again, and yours off" his I ' "

I shall have to recur to this outburst on a future occasion,
and will now hasten to the important event which is generally
supposed to have been directly occasioned by the perils of the
battle of Jena. I mean his marriage.

CHAPTER II.

Goethe's wife.

The judgments of men are curious. No action in Aris-
totle's life subjected him to more calumny than his generous
marriage with the friendless Phythia ; no action in Goethe's life
has excited more scandal than his marriage with Christiane.
It was thought disgraceful enough in him to have taken her
into his house (a liaison out of the house seeming, in the eyes
of the world, a venial error, which becomes serious directly it
approaches nearer to the condition of marriage) ; but for the
great poet actually to complete such an enormity as to crown
his connection with Christiane by a legal sanction, this was
indeed more than society could tolerate.

I have already expressed my opinion of this unfortunate
connection, a rnkscUliance in every sense ; but I must emphat-
ically declare my belief that the redeeming point in it is pre-
cisely that which has created the scandal. Better far had
there been no connection at all ; but if it was to be, the nearer
it approached a real marriage, and the further it was removed
from a fugitive indulgence, the more moral and healthy it
became. The fact of the mesalliance was not to be got over.
Had he married her at first, this would always have existed.

iSod.] GOETHKS WIFE. 361

But many other and darker influences would have been
averted. There would have been no such " skeleton in the
closet of his life " as, unfortunately, we know to have existed.
Let us for a moment look into that closet.

Since we last caught a glimpse of Christiane Vulpius, some
fifteen years have elapsed, in the course of which an unhappy
change has taken place. She was then a bright, lively,
pleasure-loving girl. Years and self-indulgence have now
made havoc with her charms. The evil tendency, which
youth and animal spirits kept within excess, has asserted itself
with a distinctness which her birth and circumstances may
explain, if not excuse, but which can only be contemplated in
sadness. Her father, we know, ruined himself by intemper-
ance; her brother impaired fine talents by similar excess; and
Christiane, who inherited the fatal disposition, was not saved
from it by the checks which refined society imposes, for in
Weimar she was shut out from society by her relation to
Goethe. Elsewhere, as we learn from her letters to Meyer,
she was not quite excluded from female society. Professor
Wolff and Kapellmeister Reichardt presented her to their
daughters ; and she danced at public balls. But in Weimar
this was impossible. There she lived secluded, shunned, and
had to devote herself wholly to her domestic duties, which for
one so lively and so eager for society must have had a de-
pressing influence. Fond of gayety, and especially of dancing,
she was often seen at the students' balls at Jena ; and she
accustomed herself to an indulgence in wine, which rapidly
destroyed her beauty, and which was sometimes the cause of
serious domestic troubles. I would fain have passed over this
episode in silence : but it is too generally known to be ignored ;
and it suggests a tragedy in Goethe's life little suspected by
those who saw how calmly he bore himself in public. The mere
mention of such a fact at once suggests the conflict of feelings
16

362 THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [bookvil

hidden from public gaze; the struggle of indignation with
pity, of resolution with weakness. I have discovered but one
printed indication of this domestic grief, and that is in a let-
ter from Schiller to Komer, dated 21st October, 1800. "On
the whole he produces very littie now, rich as he still is in in-
vention and execution. His spirit is not sufficiently at ease ;
his wretched domestic circumstances, which he is too weak
to alter, make him so unhappy."

Too weak to alter I Yes, there lies the tragedy, and there
the explanation. Tender, and always shrinking from inflict-
ing pain, he had not the sternness necessary to put an end to
such a condition. He suffered so much because he could
not inflict suffering. To the bystander such endurance
seems inexplicable; for the bystander knows not how the
insidious first steps are passed over, and how endurance
strengthens with repeated trials ; he knows nothing of those
hopes of a change which check violent resolutions ; nor how
affection prompts and cherishes such hopes against all evi-
dence. The bystander sees certain broad facts, which are in-
explicable to him only because he does not see the many
subtle links which bind those facts together ; he does not see
the mind of the sufferer struggling against a growing evil, and
finally resigning itself, and trying to put a calm face on the
matter. It is easy for us to say. Why did not Goethe part
from her at once 1 But parting was not easy. She was the
mother of his child ; she had been the mistress of his heart,
and still was dear to him. To part from her would not have
arrested the fatal tendency ; it would only have accelerated it
He was too weak to alter his position. He was strong
enough to bear it. Schiller divined this by his own moral in-
stincts. " I wish," he writes in a recently discovered letter,
" that I could justify Goethe in respect to his domestic rela-
tions as I can confidently in all points respecting literature

i8o6.] COETHE^S WIFE. 363

and social life. But unfortunately, by some false notions of
domestic happiness, and an unlucky aversion to marriage, he
has entered upon an engagement which weighs upon him in
his domestic circle, and makes him unhappy, yet to shake
off which, I am sorry to say, he is too weak and soft-hearted.
This is the only shortcoming in him ; but even this is closely
connected with a very noble part of his character, and he
hints no one but himself."

And thus the years rolled on. Her many good qualities
absolved her few bad qualities. He was sincerely attached
to her, and she was devoted to him ; and now, in his fifty-
eighth year, when the troubles following the battle of Jena
made him " feel the necessity of drawing all friends closer,"
who, among those friends, deserved a nearer place than
Christiane ? He resolved on marrying her.

It is not known whether this thought of marriage had for
some time previous been in contemplation, and was now put
.in execution when Weimar was too agitated to trouble itself
with his doings ; or whether the desire of legitimizing his son
in these troublous days suggested the idea. Riemer thinks
the motive was gratitude for her courageous and prudent con-
duct during the troubles ; but I do not think that explanation
acceptable, the more so as, according to her own statement,
marriage was proposed in the early years of their acquaint-
ance. In the absence of positive testimony, I am disposed to
rely on psychological evidence ; and, assuming that the idea
of marriage had been previously entertained, the delay in
execution is explicable when we are made aware of one
peculiarity in his nature, namely, a singular hesitation in
adopting any decisive course of action, — singular in a man
so resolute and imperious when once his decision had been
made. This is the weakness of imaginative men. However
strong the volition, when once it is set going, there is in men

364 ^-^^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book vil

of active intellects, and especially in men of imaginative,
apprehensive intellects, a fluctuation of motives keeping the
volition in abeyance, which practically amounts to weakness,
and is only distinguished from weakness by the strength of
the volition when let loose. Goethe, who was aware of this
peculiarity, used to attribute it to his never having been
placed in circumstances which required prompt resolutions,
and to his not having educated his will ;• but I believe the
cause lay much deeper, lying in the nature of psychological
actions, not in the accidents of education.

But be the cause of the delay this or any other, it is
certain that on the 19th of October, i. e. five days after the
battle of Jena, and not, as writers constantly report, " during
the cannonade," he was united to Christiane, in the presence
of his son, and of his secretary, Riemer.

The scandal which this act of justice excited was immense,
as may readily be guessed by those who know the world.
His friends, however, loudly applauded his emergence from,
a false position. From that time forward, no one who did
not treat her with proper respect could hope to be well
received by him. She bore her new-made honors unobtru-
sively, and with a quiet good sense, which managed to
secure the hearty good-will of most of those who knew her.

CHAPTER III.

BETTINA AND NAPOLEON.

It is very characteristic that during the terror and the
pillage of Weimar, Goethe's greatest anxiety on his own
account was lest his scientific manuscripts should be
destroyed. Wine, plate, furniture, could be replaced ; but

i8o7.] BETTINA AND NAPOLEON. 365

to lose his manuscripts was to lose what was irreparable.
Herder's posthumous manuscripts were destroyed ; Meyer
lost everything, even his sketches : but Goethe lost nothing,
except wine and money.*

The Duke, commanded by Prussia to submit to Napoleon,
laid down his arms and returned to Weimar, there to be
received with the enthusiastic love of his people, as some
compensation for the indignities he had endured. Peace
was restored. Weimar breathed again. Goethe availed
himself of the quiet to print his FarbenUhre and Faust, that
they might be rescued from any future peril. He also began
to meditate once more an epic on William Tell ; but the
death of the Duchess Amalia on the loth April drove the
subject from his mind.

On the 23d of April Bettina came to Weimar. We must
pause awhile to consider this strange figure, who fills a larger
space in the literary history of the nineteenth century than
any other German woman. Every one knows " the Child "
Bettina Brentano, — daughter of the Maximiliane Brentano
with whom Goethe flirted at Frankfurt in the Werther days,

— wife of Achim von Arnira, the fantastic Romanticist,

— the worshipper of Goethe and Beethoven, — for some
time the privileged favorite of the King of Prussia, — and
writer of that wild, but unveracious book, Goeth^s Correspond-
ence with a Child, She is one of those phantasts to whom
everything seems permitted. More elf than woman, yet with
flashes of genius which light up in splendor whole chapters
of nonsense, she defies criticism, and puts every verdict at

* It is at once ludicrous and sad to mention that even this has been
the subject of malevolent sneers against him. His antagonists cannot
forgive him the good fortune which saved his house from pillage, when
the houses of others were ransacked. They seem to think it a myste-
rious result of his selfish calculations !

366 '^^^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book vn.

fault If you are grave with her, people shrug their shoul-
ders, and saying, ** She is a Brentano," consider all settled.
" At the point where the folly of others ceases, the folly of
the Brentanos begins," runs the proverb in Germany.

I do not wish to be graver with Bettina than the occasion
demands ; but while granting fantasy its widest license, while
grateful to her for the many picturesque anecdotes she has
preserved from the conversation of Goethe's mother, I must
consider the history of her relation to Goethe seriously,
because out of it has arisen a charge against his memory
which is very false and injurious. Many unsuspecting read-
ers of her book, whatever they may think of the passionate
expressions of her love for Goethe, whatever they may think
of her demeanor towards him, on first coming into his pres-
ence, feel greatly hurt at his coldness ; while others are still
more indignant with him for keeping alive this mad passion,
feeding it with poems and compliments, and doing this out
of a selfish calculation, in order that he might gather from her
letters materials for his poems I In both these views there is
complete misconception of the actual case. True it is, that
the Correspondence furnishes ample evidence for both opin-
ions ; and against that evidence there is but one fact to be
opposed, but the fact is decisive ; the Correspondence is a
romance.

A harsher phrase would be applied were the offender a
man, or not a Brentano ; for the romance is put forward as
biographical fact, not as fiction playing around and among
fact. How much is true, how much exaggeration, and how
much pure invention, I am in no position to explain. But
Riemer, the old and trusted friend of Goethe, living in the
house with him at the time of Bettina's arrival, has shown
the Correspondence to be a " romance which has only bor-
rowed from reality the time, place, and circumstances *' ; and

iSo;.] BETTINA AND NAPOLEON, 367

from other sources I have learned enough to see both
Goethe's conduct and her own in quite a different light from
that presented in her work.

A young, ardent, elfin creature worships the great poet at
a distance, writes to tell him so, is attentive to his mother,
who gladly hears praises of her son, and is glad to talk of
him. He is struck with her extraordinary mind, is grateful
to her for the attentions to his mother, and writes as kindly
as he can without compromising himself. She comes to Wei-
mar. She falls into his arms, and, according to her not very
credible account, goes to sleep in his lap on' their first inter-
view ; and ever afterwards is ostentatious of her adoration
and her jealousy. If the story is true, the position was very
embarrassing for Goethe : a man aged fifty-eight worshipped
by a girl who, though a woman in years, looked like a child,
and worshipped with the extravagance, partly mad, and partly
wilful, of a Brentano, — what could he do ? He could take
a base advantage of her passion ; he could sternly repress
it ; or he could smile at it, and pat her head as one pats a
whimsical, amusing child. These three courses were open
to him, and only these. He adopted the last, until she
forced him to adopt the second ; forced him by the very
impetuosity of her adoration. At first the child's coquettish,
capricious ways amused him \ her bright-glancing intellect
interested him ; but when her demonstrations became obtru-
sive and fatiguing, she had to be " called to order *' so often,
that at last his patience was fairly worn out. The continua-
tion of such a relation was obviously impossible. She gave
herself the license of a child, and would not be treated as a
child. She fatigued him.

Riemer relates that during this very visit she complained
to him of Goethe's coldness. This coldness, he rightly says,
was simply patience ; a patience which held out with diffi-

368 THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book vil

culty against such assaults. Bettina quitted Weimar, to re-
turn in 1811, when by her own conduct she gave him a
reasonable pretext for breaking off the connection ; a pre-
text, I am assured, he gladly availed himself of. It was this.
She went one day with Goethe's wife to the Exhibition of
Art, in which Goethe took great interest ; and there her satir-
ical remarks, especially on Meyer, oflfended Christiane, who
spoke sharply to her. High words rose, gross insult fol-
lowed. Goethe took the side of his insulted wife, and
forbade Bettina the house. It was in vain that on a sub-
sequent visit to Weimar she begged Goethe to receive
her. He was resolute. He had put an end to a relation which
could not be a friendship, and was only an embarrass-
ment*

Such being the real story, as far as I can disentangle it, we
have now to examine the authenticity of the Correspondence^ in
as far as it gives support to the two charges : first, of Goethe's
alternate coldness and tenderness ; second, of his using her
letters as material for his poems. That he was ever tender to
her, is denied by Riemer, who pertinently asks how we are to
believe that the coldness of which she complained during her
visit to Weimar grew in her absence to the lover-like warmth
glowing in the sonnets addressed to her t This is not credi-
ble ; but the mystery is explained by Riemer's distinct denial
that the sonnets were addressed to her. They were sent to
her, as to other friends ; but the poems, which she says were
inspired by her, were in truth written for another. The
proof is very simple. These sonnets were written before she

* I give this story as it was told me, by an authority quite unexcep-
tionable; nevertheless, in all such narratives there is generally some
inaccuracy, even when relating to contemporary events, and the details
above given may not be absolutely precise, although the net result cer-
tainly is there expressed.

i8o8.] BETTINA AND NAPOLEON. 369

came to Weimar, and had already passed through Riemer's
hands, like other works, for his supervision. Riemer, more-
over, knew to whom these passionate sonnets were addressed,
although he did not choose to name her. I have no such
cause for concealment, and declare the sonnets to have been
addressed to Minna Herzlieb, of whom we shall hear more
presently ; as ijideed the charade on her name, which closes
the series {Herz-Lieb\ plainly indicates. Not only has Bet-
tina appropriated the sonnets which were composed at Jena
while Riemer was with Goethe, and inspired by one living at
Jena, but she has also appropriated poems known by Riemer
to have been written in 1813-1819, she then being the wife of
Achim von Amim, and having since 181 1 been resolutely ex-
cluded from Goethe's house. To shut your door against a
woman, and yet write love-verses to her, — to respond so
coldly to her demonstrations that she complains of it, and
yet pour forth sonnets throbbing with passion, — is a course of
conduct certainly not credible on evidence such as the Cor-
respondmce with a Child, Hence we are the less surprised to
find Riemer declaring that some of her letters are "little
more than meta- and para- phrases of Goethe's poems, in which
both rhythm and rhyme are still traceable^ So that instead of
Goethe turning her letters into poems, Riemer accuses her of
turning Goethe's poems into her letters. An accusation so
public and so explicit — an accusation which ruined the
whole authenticity of the Correspondence — should at once
have been answered. The production of the originals with
their postmarks might have silenced accusers. But the ac-
cusation has been many years before the world, and no
answer attempted.

Although the main facts had already been published, a loud
uproar followed the first appearance of this chapter in Ger-
many. Some ardent friend of Bettina's opened fire upon me
16* X

370 ^^^ STORY OF GOETHE^S LIFE. [book ini.

b a pamphlet,* which called forth seveial replies in news-
papers and journals \ f and I believe there are few Germans
who now hesitate to acknowledge that the whole corre-
spondence has been so tampered with as to have become,
from first to last, a romance. For the sake of any still
unconvinced partisans in England, a few evidences of the
manipulation which the correspondence has undergone may
not be without interest

In the letter bearing date ist March, 1807, we read of the
King of Westphalia's court, when, unless History be a liar,
the kingdom of Westphalia was not even in existence. Goethe's
mother, in another letter, speaks of her delight at Napoleon's
appearance, — four months before she is known to have set
eyes upon him. The letters of Goethe, from November to
September, all imply that he was at Weimar ; nay, he invites
her to Weimar on the i6th July; she arrives there at the
end of the month; visits him, and on the i6th August he
writes to her from thence. Diintzer truly says, that these
letters must be spurious, since Goethe left for Karlsbad on
the 2Sth May, and did not return till September. Not only
does Bettina visit Goethe at Weimar at a time when he is
known to have been in Bohemia, but she actually receives
letters from his mother dated the 21st September and 7th
October, 1808, although the old lady died on the 13th Sep-
tember. One may overlook Bettina's intimating that she was
only thirteen, when the parish register proves her to have
been two-and-twenty ; but it is impossible to place the
slightest reliance on the veracity of a book which exhibits
flagrant and careless disregard of facts ; and if I have been

* An G. H, LeiveSf Eine Epistel von Heinrich Siegfried, Berlin,
1858.

t See in particular the article by Duentzek, Allgemeine Zeitung;
April 20i 185&

i8o8.J BETTINA AND NAPOLEON, 371

somewhat merciless in the exposure of this fabrication, it is
because it has greatly helped to desseminate very false views
respecting a very noble nature.

In conclusion, it is but necessary to add, ^at Bettina's
work thus deprived of its authenticity, all those hypotheses
which have been built on it respecting Goethe's conduct fall
to the ground. Indeed, when one comes to think of it, the
hypothesis of his using her letters as poetic materials does
seem the wildest of all figments \ for not only was he prod-
igal in invention and inexhaustible in material, but he was
especially remarkable for always expressing his own feelings,
his own experience, not the feelings and experience of
others.

We part here fi*om Bettina; another and very different
figure enters on the scene : Napoleon at the Congress of
Erfurt. It was in September, 1808, that the meeting of the
Emperors of France and Russia, with all the minor poten-
tates, took place at the little town of Erfurt, a few miles from
Weimar. It was a wonderful sight. The theatre was
opened, with Talma and the Parisian troupe performing the
finest tragedies of France before a parterre of kings. " Ex-
actly in front of the pit sat the two Emperors, in arm-chairs,
in familiar conversation ; a little in their rear the kings ; and
then the reigning princes and hereditary princes. Nothing
was seen in the whole pit but uniforms, stars, and orders.
The lower boxes were filled with staff-officers and the most
distinguished persons of the imperial bureaux; the upper
front with princesses; and at their sides foreign ladies. A
strong guard of grenadiers of the imperial guard was posted
at the entrance. On the arrival of either emperor the drum
beat thrice ; on that of any king, twice. On one occasion
the sentinel, deceived by the outside of the King of Wiirtem-
berg's carriage, ordered the triple salute to be given, on

372 THE STORY OF GOETHE^S LIFE. [book vii.

which the officer in command cried out, in an angry tone,
* Taisez-vous, — ce n*est qu'un roi ! '" *

Napoleon, on this occasion, gave a friendly reception to
the Duke of JVeimar, and to Goethe and Wieland, with whom
he talked about literature and history. Goethe went to
Erfurt on the 29th of September, and that evening saw An-
dromaque performed. On the 30th, there was a grand dinner
given by the Duke, and in the evening Briiannicus was
performed. In the Moniteur of the 8th of October he is
mentioned among the illustrious guests : "II parait appr^cier
parfaitement nos acteurs, et admirer surtout les chefs-d'oeuvre
qu'ils repr^sentent" On the 2d of October he was sum-
moned to an audience with the Emperor, and found him at
breakfast, Talleyrand and Dam standing by his side, Ber-
thier and Savary behind. Napoleon, after a fixed look, ex-
claimed, "Vous ^tes un homme 1 " a phrase which produced
a profound impression on the flattered poet " How old are
you ? " asked the Emperor. " Sixty." " You are very well
preserved." After a pause, "You have written tragedies?**
Here Dam interposed, and spoke with warmth of Goethe's
works, adding that he had translated Voltaire's Mahomet
" It is not a good piece," said Napoleon, and commenced a
critique on Mahomet^ especially on the unworthy portrait
given of that conqueror of a world. He then turned the con-
versation to Werther, which he had read seven times, and
which accompanied him to Egypt. " After various remarks,
all very just," says Goethe, " he pointed out a passage, and
asked me why I had written so : it was contrary to nature.
This opinion he developed with great clearness. I listened
calmly, and smilingly replied that I did not know whether
the objection had ever been made before, but that I found it

* Kanzler von Miiller in Mrs. Austin's Germany from 1760 to 1814,
p. 307-

i8o8.] BETTINA AND NAPOLEON. 373

perfectly just The passage was unnatural ; but perhaps the
poet might be pardoned for the artifice which enabled him to
reach his end in an easier, simpler way. The Emperor
seemed satisfied and returned to the drama, and criticised it
like a man who had studied the tragic stage with the atten-
tion of a criminal judge, and who was keenly alive to the
fault of the French in departing from nature. He disap-
proved of all pieces in which fate played a part. * Ces pieces
appartiennent k une ^poque obscure. Au reste, que veulent-
ils dire avec leur fatality ? La politique est la fatality/ "

The interview lasted nearly an hour. Napoleon inquired
after his children and family ; was very gracious \ and wound
up almost every sentence with, " Qu'en dit M. Goet ? " As
Goethe left the room, Napoleon repeated to Berthier and
Daru, " Voilk un homme ! "

A few days after. Napoleon was in Weimar, and great fes-
tivities were set on foot to honor him \ among them a chasse
on the battle-field of Jena ; a grand ball at court ; and La
Mort de Char at the theatre, with Talma as Brutus. Dur-
ing the ball, Napoleon talked at great length with Goethe
and Wieland. Speaking of ancient and modern literature,
Napoleon touched on Shakespeare, whom he was too French
to comprehend, and said to Goethe : " Je suis ^tonn^ qu'un
grand esprit comme vous n'aime pas les genres tranche."
Goethe might have replied that ks grands esprits have almost
universally been the very reverse of tranches in their tastes ;
but of course it was not for him to controvert the Emperor.
As Johnson said on a similar occasion, " Sir, it was not for me
to bandy words with my sovereign." After speaking magnil-
oquently of tragedy, Napoleon told him he ought to write a
Deaih of CcBsar, but in a grander style than the tragedy of
Voltaire. " Ce travail pourrait devenir la principale tiche
de votre vie. Dans cette trag^die il faudrait montrer au

374 '^^^ STORY OF GOETHE* S LIFE, [book vii.

monde comment C^sar aurait pu faire le bonheur de Thu-
manit^ si on lui avait laiss^ le temps d*ex^cuter ses vastes
plans." One cannot help thinking of Goethe's early scheme
to write yulius Casar, and how entirely opposed it would
have been to the genre iranchi so admired by Napoleon.

A proposition more acceptable than that of writing trage-
dies at his age was that of accompanying Napoleon to Paris.
" Venez k Paris, je Texige de vous ; Ik vous trouverez un cer-
cle plus vaste pour votre esprit d'observation ; Ik vous trou-
verez des matiferes immenses pour vos creations podtiques."
He had never seen a great capital like Paris or London, and
there was something very tempting in this invitation. F. von
Miiller says he often spoke with him on the probable expense
of the journey, and of the Parisian usages ; but the inconven-
ience of so long a journey (in those days), and his sixty years,
seem to have checked his desire.

On the 14th of October he and Wieland received the
cross of the Legion of Honor, — then an honor ; and the
two Emperors quitted Erfurt. Goethe preserved complete
silence on all that had passed between him and Napoleon.
Indeed, when he recorded the interviews, many years later,
in the annals of his life, he did so in the most skeleton-like
manner.

To the oft-repeated question. What was the passage in
Werther indicated by Napoleon as contrary to Nature, he
always returned a playful answer, referring the questioner to
the book, on which to exercise his own ingenuity in discov.-
ery. He would not even tell Eckermann. He was fond, in
this later period of life, of playing hide-and-seek with readers,
and enjoyed their efforts to unravel mysteries. The present
mystery has been cleared up by the Chancellor von Miiller,
to whom we owe most of the details respecting this interview
with Napoleon. The objection raised by Napoleon was none

i8o8.] BETTINA AND NAPOLEON. 375

Other than the objection raised by Herder when Werther was
revised by him in 1782, — viz., that Werther's melancholy
which leads him to suicide, instead of proceeding solely from
frustrated love, is complicated by his frustrated ambition.
Herder thought this a fault in art, Napoleon thought it con-
trary to nature ; and, strange to say, Goethe agreed with both,
and had altered his work in obedience to Herder's criticism,
though he forgot all about it when Napoleon once more
brought the objection forward. Against Herder, Napoleon,
and Goethe himself, it is enough to oppose the simple fact :
Werther (i. e. Jerusalem) was suffering from frustrated ambi-
tion, as well as from frustrated love ; and what Goethe found
him, that he made him. We have only to turn to Kestner*s
letter, describing Jerusalem and his unhappy story, to see
that Goethe, in Werther^ followed with the utmost fidelity the
narrative which was given him. This anecdote affords a
piquant commentary on the value of criticism : three men so
illustrious as Napoleon, Goethe, and Herder, pointing to a
particular treatment of a subject as contrary to Art and con-
trary to Nature ; the treatment being all the while strictly in
accordance with Nature.

That he was extremely flattered by the attentions of Napo-
leon has been the occasion of a loud outcry from those who,
having never been subjected to any flattery of this nature,
find it very contemptible. But the attentions of a Napoleon
were enough to soften in their flattery even the sternness of
a republican ; and Goethe, no republican, was all his life
very susceptible to the gratification which a Frankfurt citizen
must feel in receiving the attention of crowned heads.
There is infinite insincerity uttered on this subject ; and gen-
erally the outcry is loudest from men who would themselves
be most dazzled by court favor of any kind. To hear them
talk of Goethe's servility, and worship of rank, one might

376 '^^^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE, [book vii.

fancy that they stood on a moral elevation, looking down
upon him with a saperior pity which in some sort compen-
sated their inferiority of intellect.

It is true that Goethe was not only far removed from
republican austerity, but placed more value on his star and
title of Excellency than his thorough-going partisans are will-
ing to admit If that be a weakness, let him be credited
with it ; but if he were as vain of such puerilities as an Eng-
lish Duke is of the Garter, I do not see any cause for seri-
ous reproach in it So few poets have been Excellencies, so
few have worn stars on their breast, that we have no
means of judging whether Goethe's vanity was greater or less
than we have a right to expect Meanwhile it does seem to
me that sneers at his title, and epigrams on his stars, come
with a very bad grace from a nation which is laughed at for
nothing more frequently than for its inordinate love of tides.
Nor are Englishmen so remarkable for their indifference to
rank, as to make them the fittest censors of this weakness in
a Goethe.

CHAPTER IV.

POLITICS AND RELIGION.

Among the Jena friends whom Goethe saw with constant
pleasure was Frommann, the bookseller, in whose family there
was an adopted child, by name Minna Herzlieb, strangely in-
teresting to us as the original of Ottilie in the Wahlverwandt-
schaften. As a child she had been a great pet of Goethe's ;
growing into womanhood, she exercised a fascination over
him which his reason in vain resisted. The disparity of years
was great; but how frequently are young girls found bestowing

i8o8.] POLITICS AND RELIGION. 377

the bloom of their affections on men old enough to be their
fathers ! and how frequently are men at an advanced age
found trembling with the passion of youth I In the Sonnets
addressed to her, and in the novel of Elective Affinities^ may
be read the fervor of his passion, and the strength with which
he resisted it. Speaking of this novel, he says : " No one
can fail to recognize in it a deep passionate wound which
shrinks from being closed by healing, a heart which dreads to

be cured In it, as in a burial-urn, I have deposited with

deep emotion many a sad experience. The 3d of October,
1809 (when the publication was completed), set me free from
the work ; but the feelings it embodies can never quite depart
from me/' If we knew as much of the circumstances out of
which grew the Elective Affinities as we do of those out of
which grew Werther, we should find his experience as clearly
embodied in this novel as it is in Werther; but conjecture in
such cases being perilous, I will not venture beyond the facts
which have been placed at my disposal ; and may only add
therefore that the growing attachment was seen by all with
pain and dismay. At length it was resolved to send Minna
to school,* and this absolute separation saved them both.

Minna Herzlieb, to whom we owe the Wahlverwandtschaf-
ten, subsequently married unhappily.f Goethe long carried
the arrow in his heart. In 18 10, he once more gave poetic
expression to his experience in an erotic poem, setting forth
the conflict of Love and Duty. The nature of this poem,
however, prevented its publication, and it still exists only as
a manuscript In this year also he commenced his Autobiog-
raphy, the first part of which appeared in 181 1. The public,
anxious for autobiography, received it with a disappointment

* In the novel, Ottilie also is sent back to school,
t Read the story as narrated by Stahr, Goethe's Frauengtstalten,
1870, II. 261.

378 '^^^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE, [book vii,

which is perfectly intelligible ; channmg as the book is in
every other respect, it is tantalizing to a reader curious to see
the great poet in his youth.

Before writing this Autobiography he had to outlive the
sorrow for his mother's death. She died on the 13th of Sep-
tember, 1808, in her 78th year. To the last, her love for her
son, and his for her, had been the glory and sustainment of
her happy old age. He had wished her to come and live
with him at Weimar ; but the circle of old Frankfurt friends,
and the influence of old habits, kept her in her native city,
where she was venerated by all.

A volume would be required to record with anything like
fulness the details of the remaining years. There is no
deficiency of material : in his letters, and the letters of friends
and acquaintances, will be found an ample gleaning; but,
unhappily, the materials are abundant precisely at the point
where the interest of the story begins to fade. From sixty to
eighty-two is a long period ; but it is not a period in which
persons and events influence a man ; his character, already
developed, can receive no new direction. At this period
biography is at an end, and necrology begins. For Ger-
mans, the details to which I allude have interest ; but the
English reader would receive with mediocre gratitude a cir-
cumstantial narrative of all Goethe did and studied ; all the
excursions he made ; every cold and toothache which afflicted
him ; every person he conversed with.

The year 18 13, which began the War of Independence, was
to Goethe a year of troubles- It began with an affliction, —
the death of his old friend Wieland, — which shook him more
than those who knew him best were prepared for. Herder,
Schiller, the Duchess Amalia, his mother, and now Wieland,
one by one had fallen away, and left him lonely, advancing in
years.

l8i3.] POLITICS AND RELIGION, 379

Nor was this the only source of unhappiness. Political
troubles came to disturb his plans. Germany was rising
against the tyranny of Napoleon ; rising, as Goethe thought,
in vain. " You will not shake off your chains," he said to
Korner; " the man is too powerful ; you will only press them
deeper into your flesh." His doubts were shared by many ;
but happily the nation shared them not. While patriots were
rousing the wrath of the nation into the resistance of despair,
he tried to " escape from the present, because it is impossible
to hve in such circumstances and not go mad " ; he took
refuge, as he always did, in Art He wrote the ballads Der
TodtmianZj Der gdreue Eckariy and Die wandelude Glocke ;
wrote the essay Shakspeare und kein Ende^ and finished the
third volume of his Autobiography. He buried himself in the
study of Chinese history. Nay, on the very day of the battle
of Leipsic, he wrote the epilogue to the tragedy of Essex^ for
the favorite actress, Madame Wolf.*

Patriotic writers are unsparing in sarcasms on a man who
could thus seek refuge in Poetry from the bewildering troubles
of politics, and they find no other explanation than that he
was an Egoist. Other patriotic writers, among them some
of ultra-republicanism, such as Karl Griin, have eloquently
defended him. I do not think it necessary to add arguments
to those already suggested respecting his relation to politics.
Those who are impatient with him for being what he was, and
not what they are, will listen to no arguments. It is needless
to point out how, at sixty-four, he was not likely to become a
politician, having up to that age sedulously avoided politics.
It is needless to show that he was not in a position which
called upon him to do anything. The grievance seems to be

♦ Curiously enough, on that very day of Napoleon's first great defeat,
his medallion, which was hung on the wall of Goethe's study, fell from
its nail on to the ground.

38o ^^-^ STORY OF GOETHE*S LIFE, [book vn.

that he wrote no war-songs, issued no manifestoes, but strove
to keep himself as much as possible out of the hearing of
contemporary history. If this was a crime, the motive was
not criminal. Judge the act as you will, but do not misjudge
the motive. To attribute such an act to cowardice, or fear of
compromising himself, is unwarrantable, in the face of all the
evidence we have of his character.

When the mighty Napoleon threatened the Grand Duke, we
have seen how Goethe was roused. That was an individual
injustice, which he could clearly understand, and was prepared
to combat. For the Duke he would turn ballad-singer ; for
the Nation he had no voice ; and why ? Because there was
no Nation. He saw clearly then, what is now seen clearly by
others, that Germany had no existence as a Natioji : it was a
geographical fiction ; and such it remained till our day.
And he failed to see what is now clearly seen, that the Ger-
man Peoples were, for the time, united by national enthusiasm,
united by a common feeling of hatred against France ; failing
to see this, he thought that a collection of disunited Germans
was certain to be destroyed in a struggle with Napoleon. He
was wrong ; the event has proved his error ; but his error of
opinion must not be made an accusation against his sincerity.
When Luden the historian, whose testimony is the weightier
because it is that of a patriot, had that interview with him,
after the battle of Leipsic, which he has recorded with so
much feeling,* the impression left was, he says, " that I was
deeply convinced they are in grievous error who blaim Goethe
for a want of love of country, a want of (German feeling, a
want of faith in the German people, or of sympathy with its
honor and shame, its fortune or misery. His silence about
great events was simply a painful resignation, to which he was
necessarily led by his position and his knowledge of mankind."

* Luden's Ruckblicke in mein Leben, p. 113, seg.

1813] POLITICS AND RELIGION, 381

He was not likely to be found among the enthusiasts of
that day, had he been at the age of enthusiasm. But, as he
said to Eckermann, who alluded to the reproaches against
him for not having written war-songs, " How could I take up
arms without hatred, and^ how could I hate without youth ?
If such an emergency had befallen me when twenty years
old, I should certainly not have been the last ; but it found
me past sixty. Besides, we cannot all serve our country in
the same way, but each does his best according as God has
endowed him. I have toiled hard enough during half a
century. I can say, that in those things which nature has
appointed for my daily work, I have permitted myself no
relaxation or repose, but have always striven, investigated,
and done as much, and as well, as I could. If every one can
say the same of himself, it will prove well with all. To
write military songs, and sit in a room ! That forsooth was
my duty ! To have written them in the bivouac, when the
horses at the evening's outposts are heard neighing at night,
would have been well enough : that was not my way of life
nor my business, but that of Theodore Korner. His war-
songs suit him perfectly. But to me, who am not of a
warlike nature, and who have no warlike sense, war-songs
would have been a mask which would have fitted my face
very badly. I have never affected anything in my poetry. I
have never uttered anything which I have not experienced,
and which has not urged me to production. I have only
composed love-songs when I have loved ; and how could I
write songs of hatred without hating ? "

Connected with this political indifference, and mainly the
cause of it, was his earnestness in Art ; an earnestness which
has been made the evidence of this most extraordinary
charge against him, namely, that he " looked on life only as
an artist." The shallow phrase has become stereotyped.

382 '^^^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book vn.

Every one has heard it who has heard anything of him. It
is uttered with the confidence of conviction, and is meant to
convey a volume of implicit reprobation. When a man
devotes himself to a special science, gives to it the greater
part of his time, his thoughts and sympathies, we marvel at
his energy, and laud his passionate devotion; we do not
make his earnestness a crime ; we do not say of a Liebig
that he " looks at life only as a chemist "; of a Darwin, " that
he looks at life only as a zoologist." It is understood that
any great pursuit must necessarily draw away the thoughts
and activities from other pursuits. Why then is Art to be
excluded from the same serious privilege ? Why is the artist,
who is in earnest, excluded from the toleration spontaneously
awarded to the philosopher ? I know but of one reason, and
that is the indisposition in men to accept Art as serious.
Because Art ministers directly to our pleasures, it is looked
on as the child of luxury, the product of idleness ; and those
who cannot rise to the height of the conception which ani-
mated a Goethe and a Schiller are apt to treat it as mere
rhetoric and self-importance in men who speak of Art as the
noblest form of culture. Indeed those who regard painting
and sculpture as means of supplying their dining-rooms and
galleries with costly ornaments; music, as furnishing the
excuse for a box at the opera ; and poetry as an agreeable
pastime, may be justified in thinking lightly of painters,
sculptors, musicians, and poets. But I will not suppose the
reader to be one of this class ; and may therefore appeal to
his truer appreciation for a verdict in favor of the claims
made by Art to serious recognition, as one among the many
forms of national culture. This granted, it follows that the
more earnestly the artist accepts and follows his career, the
more honor does he claim from us.

Now Goethe was a man of too profoundly serious a nature

x8i3.] POLITICS AND RELIGION. 383

not to be in earnest with whatever he undertook ; he led an
earnest and laborious life, when he might have led one of
pleasure and luxurious idleness. "To scorn delights and
live laborious days/* with no other reward than the reward of
activity, the delight of development, was one of the necessi-
ties of his nature. He worked at Science with the patient
labor of one who had to earn his bread ; and he worked in
the face of dire discouragement, with no reward in the shape
of pence or praise. In Art, which was the main region of
his intellectual strivings, he naturally strove after complete-
ness. If the philosopher is observed drawing materials for
his generalizations out of even the frivolities of the passing
hour, learning in the theatre, the ball-room, or in the in-
coherent talk of railway passengers, to detect illustrations
of the laws he is silently elaborating, we do not accuse
him of looking on life only as a philosopher, thereby im-
plying that he is deficient in the feelings of his kind ; yet
something like this is done by those who make a crime of
Goethe's constant endeavor to collect firom life material for
Art.

If when it is said " he looked on life only as an artist," the
meaning is that he, as an artist, necessarily made Art the
principal occupation of his life, — the phrase is a truism ; and
if the meaning is that he isolated himself from the labors and
pursuits of his fellow-men, to play with life, and arrange it as
an agreeable drama, — the phrase is a calumny. It is only
through deep sympathy that a man can become a great
artist ; those who play with life can only play with art. The
great are serious. That Goethe was a great artist all admit.
Has the life we have narrated shown him to be deficient in
benevolence, in lovingness, in sympathy with others and their
pursuits ? has it shown any evidence of a nature so wrapped
in self-indulgence, and so coldly calculating, that life could

384 '^^^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE, [book to.

become a mere playing to it ? If the answer be No, then
let us hear no more about Goethe's looking on life only as an
artist The vulgar may blame a devotion which they cannot
understand ; do not let us imitate the vulgar.

While one party has assailed him for his political indiffer-
ence, another, and still more ungenerous, party has assailed
him for what they call his want of religion. The man who
can read Goethe's works and not perceive in them a spirit
deeply religious must limit the word "religion " to the designa-
tion of his own doctrines ; and the man who, reading them,
discovers that Goethe was not orthodox, is discovering the
sun at mid-day. Orthodox he never pretended to be. His
religious experiences had begun early, and his doubts began
with them. There are those who regard Doubt as criminal
in itself; but no human soul that has once struggled, that
has once been perplexed with baffling thoughts which it has
been too sincere to huddle away and stifle in precipitate con-
clusions, dreading to face the consequences of doubt, will
speak thus harshly and unworthily of it

The course of his opinions, as we have seen, was often
altered. At times he approached the strictness of strict
sects; at times he went great lengths in scepticism. The
Fraulein von Klettenberg taught him to sympathize with the
Moravians; but Lavater's unconscious hypocrisy, and the
moral degradation of the Italian priesthood, gradually
changed his respect for the Christian churches into open
and sometimes sarcastic contempt of priests and priesthoods.
In various epochs of his long life he expressed himself so
variously that a pietist may claim him, or a Voltairian may
claim him : both with equal show of justice. The secret of
this contradiction lies in the fact that he had deep religious
sentiments, with complete scepticism on most religious doc-
trines. Thus, whenever the Encyclopedists attacked Chris-

1813] POLITICS AND RELIGION, 385

tianity he was ready to defend it ; * but when he was brought

in contact with dogmatic Christians, who wanted to force

their creed upon him, he resented the attempt, and answered

in the spirit of his scepticism. To the Encyclopedists he

would say, " Whatever frees the intellect, without at the same

time giving us command over ourselves, is pernicious " ; or

he would utter one of his profound and pregnant aphorisms,

such as

" Nur das Gesetz kann uns die Freiheit geben/'

i. e. only within the circle of law can there be true freedom.
We are not free when we acknowledge to higher power, but
when we acknowledge it, and in reverence raise ourselves by
proving that a Higher lives in us.

But against dogmatic teachings he opposed the fundamen-
tal rule, that all conceptions of the Deity must necessarily be
our individual conceptions, valid for us, but not to the same
extent for others. Each soul has its own religion ; must have
it as an individual possession ; let each see that he be true to
it, which is far more efficacious than trpng to accommodate
himself to another's !

" Im Innem ist ein Universum auch ;
Daher der Volker loblicher Gebrauch
Dass Jeglicher das Beste was er kennt,
Er Gott, ja seinen Gott benennt"

♦ Abeken was told by a lady that she once heard Goethe soundly
rate a respected friend, because she spoke of sacred persons in the tone
of vulgar rationalism.

17

386 '^^^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book vil

CHAPTER V.

THE ACTIVITY OF AGE.

Whatever else he has been accused of, Goethe has never
been accused of not having striven incessantly to reach a full
development of his own being, and to aid the culture of his
nation. There is something truly grand in the picture of his
later years, so calm, and yet so active. His sympathy, in-
stead of growing cold with age, seems every year to become
more active. Every discovery in Science, every new appear-
ance in Literature, every promise in Art, finds him eager as
a child to be instructed, and ready with aid or applause to
further it

Old age, indeed, is a relative term. Goethe at seventy was
younger than many men at fifty ; and at eighty-two he wrote
a scientific review of the great discussion between Cuvier and
Geoffroy St. Hilaire on Philosophic Zoology, a review which
few men in their prime could write. Sophocles, who is said
to have written his masterpiece at eighty, is an example of
great poetic capacity thus prolonged. The reflective powers
often retain their capacity, and by increase of material seem
to increase it; but not so the productive powers. Yet in
Goethe we see extraordinary fertility, even in the latest years :
the Second Part of Famt was completed in his eighty-first
year, and the wesi-ostliche Divan was written in his sixty-fifth.
Although we cannot by any means consider these works as
equal to the works of his earlier days, we must still consider
them as marvellous productions to issue under the sunset of
a poet.

The west-^stliche Divan was a refiige from the troubles of

i8i6.] THE ACTIVITY OF AGE, 387

the time. Instead of making himself unhappy with the poli-
tics of Europe, he made himself happy studying the history
and poetry of the East. He even began to study the Ori-
ental languages, and was delighted to be able to copy the
Arabic manuscripts in their peculiar characters. Von Ham-
mer, De Sacy, and other Orientalists had given him abun-
dant material; his poetic activity soon gave that material
shape.* But while donning the Turban, and throwing the
Caftan over his shoulders, he remained a true German. He
smoked opium, and drank Foukah : but his dreams were
German, and his songs were German. This forms the pecu-
liarity ol' the Divafiy — it is West-Eastern: the images are
Eastern ; the feeling is Western. Precisely as in the Roman
Elegies he had thrown himself into the classical past, repro-
ducing its forms with unsurpassed ease and witchery, yet
never for a moment ceasing to be original,, never ceasing to
be German, so also in this Eastern world we recognize the
Western Poet He follows the Caravan slowly across the
desert ; he hears the melancholy chant of the Bulbul singing
on the borders of sparkling fountains ; he listens devoutly to
the precepts of Mohammed, and rejoices in the strains of
Hafis. The combination is most felicitous. It produced an
epoch in German Literature. The Lyrists, according to
Gervinus, suddenly following this example, at once relin-
quished their warlike and contemporary tone to sing the
songs of the East.

In the year 18 16 he began to publish an Art Journal,

♦ I do not think it necessary to make more than a passing allusion to ^
the preposterous idea of Goethe's having been assisted in these poems ,
by the Frau von Willemer, who in her seventieth year first revealed the
secret to Hermann Grimm that she was the inspirer of many and the
author of some of these exquisite lyrics ! It is the story of Bettina over
agaixL

388 THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book vii.

Kunst und Alterthum^ which continued till 1828, a curious
monument of the old man's studies and activity. It is
curious, morever, as indicating a change in the direction of
his ideas. We have seen what his relation was to the
Romantic School, and how the tendencies of his nature and
education led him to oppose to the characteristics of that
school the characteristics of Greek Art. The Propylden
represents the Greek tendency : Kunst und Alterthum rep-
resents a certain leaning towards the Romantic Gothic
Art, the old German and Netherlandish painters, no longer
seemed to him objectionable ; but the discovery of the Elgin
marbles once more awakened his enthusiasm for that perfec-
tion of form which was the ideal of Greek Art ;* and I have
heard Ranch, the sculptor, humorously narrate Goethe's
whimsical outbreaks when the young sculptor Rietschl seemed
in danger of perverting his talent by executing designs in the
spirit of the Romantic School.

Strong, however, as the opposition was which he felt to the
vagaries of the so-called Christian Art, he had too ranch of
the spirit which inspired the Faust to keep entirely aloof
from the Romanticists. In his old age the tendency to sub-
stitute Reflection for Inspiration naturally assumed greater
force ; and his love of mystification was now wearing a serious
aspect, duping himself perhaps as much as it duped others.
The German nation had persisted in discovering profound
meanings in passages which he had written without any
recondite meaning at all ; finding himself a prophet when he
meant only to be a poet, he gradually fell into the snare, and
tried to be all the more a prophet now he could no longer be
so great a poet as before. Every incident was to be tjrpical.
Every phrase was of importance. Whether the lion should
roar at a particular time (in the Novelle\ or whether he

♦ See his letter to Haydon in the Life of Haydori^ Vol. II. p. 295.

i8i6.] THE ACTIVITY OF AGE, 385

should be silent, were subjects of long deliberation. The
Wanderjahre was one great arsenal of symbols, the Second
Part of Faust another. He delighted in seeing the philo-
sophic critics outdoing each other in far-fetched ingenuity,
"explaining" his Faust and Meister ; and very astutely he
refused to come to their aid. He saw libraries filled with
discussions as to what he had intended ; but no one ever
seduced him into an explanation which would have silenced
these discussions. Instead of doing so, he seemed disposed
to furnish the world with more riddles. In a word, he mys-
tified the public ; but he did so in a grave, unconscious way,
with a certain belief in his own mystification.

In the year 181 6, Saxe Weimar was made a Grand Duchy ;
and he received the Falcon Order, together with an increase
of salary, which now became three thousand thalers, with extra
allowance for his equipage. Two other events made this
year memorable. Lotte, — Werther's Lotte, — now a widow
in her sixtieth year, and mother of twelve children, pays him
a visit at Weimar. They had not met since her marriage,
and what a meeting this must have been for both ! how
strange a mingling of feelings recurrent to a pleasantly agi-
tated past, and of feelings perplexed by the surprise at find-
ing each other so much changed !

The second and far more serious event of the year is the
death of his wife. Many affected to consider this " a happy
release." People are fond of arranging the lives of others
according to their own conceptions, interpreting afilictions
like these without regard to the feelings of the afflicted. The
blow was heavy to bear. She who for eight-and-twenty years
had loved and aided him, who — whatever her faults — had
been to him what no other woman was, could not be taken
from him without his deeply feeling the loss. His self-mastery
was utterly shaken. He kneeled at her bedside, seizing her

390 ^^-^ STORY OF GOETHSS LIFE. [book vii.

cold hands, and exclaiming, '' Thou wilt not forsake me I
No, no ; thou must not forsake me ! " He has expressed his
feelings in two passages only ; in the exquisite lines he wrote
on the day of her death, and in a letter to Zelter. These are
the lines : —

" Du versuchst, O Sonne, vergebens
Durch die diistern Wolken zu scheinen I
Der ganze Gewinn meines Lebens
Ist, ihren Verlust zu beweinen." ♦

And to Zelter the words were these : " When I tell thee, thou
rough and sorely tried son of earth, that my dear little wife
has left me, thou wilt know what that means."

In Science he strove to find forgetfulness ; and the loneli-
ness of his house was next year changed into an unaccustomed
liveliness by the marriage of his son with Ottilie von Pog-
wisch, one of the gayest and most brilliant of the Weimar
circle. She was always a great favorite with her father-in-law,
and during the remainder of his life not only kept his house
for him, and received his numerous guests, but became a
privileged favorite, to whom everything was permitted. In
the year following he sang a cradle song over his first grand-
child.

With Dobereiner, he followed all the new phenomena
which Chemistry was then bringing before the astonished
world. He also prepared his own writings on Morphology
for the press ; and studied Greek mythology, English litera-
ture, and Gothic Art. Byron's Manfred he reviewed in the
Kunst und Alterthum, and enthusiastically welcomed our
great poet as the greatest product of modem times. Scott
also he read with ever-increasing admiration. Homer,

* " In vain, O Sun, you struggle to shine through the dark clouds ;
the whole gain of my life is to bewail her loss."

1823.] THE ACTIVITY OF AGE. 391

always studied with delight, now reassumed to him that indi-
viduality which Wolff had for a time destroyed ; Schubarth's
Ideen uber Homer having brought him round once more to
the belief in the existence of " the blind old man of Scio's
rocky isle."* Painting, sculpture, architecture, geology,
meteorology, anatomy, optics. Oriental literature, English lit-
erature, Calderon, and the romantic school in France, —
these were the subjects which by turns occupied his inex-
haustible activity. " Life," he says, " resembles the Sibyl-
line Books ; it becomes dearer the less there remains of it."
To one who could so worthily occupy the last remaining
years of a long life, they must indeed have been precious.
As he grew older, he worked harder. He went less into
society. To court he very seldom went. " I would n't send
the picture," writes the Duke to him, " because I hoped it
might lure thee out, now Candlemas is over, a day when
every bear and badger leaves his lair." But in lieu of his
going to court, the court went to him. Once every week the
Grand Duchess paid him a visit, sometimes bringing with her
a princely visitor, such as the late Emperor of Russia, then
Grand Duke, or the King of Wiirtemberg. He had always
something new and interesting set aside for this visit, which
was doubly dear to him, because he had a tender regard for
the Grand Duchess, and it pleased him to be able to show
her a new engraving, medallion, book, poem, or some scien-
tific novelty. Karl August came often, but not on particular
days. He used to walk up into the simple study, and chat
there as with a brother. One day Goethe had a Jena stu-
dent paying him a visit ; the student saw an elderly gen-
tleman walk unannounced into the room, and quietly seat
himself on a chair ; the student continued his harangue, and
when it was concluded, Goethe quietly said, " But I must in-

* See the little poem Homer wider Homer.

392

THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book vn.

troduce the gentleman : his Royal Highness the Grand Duke

of Saxe Weimar, Herr , student from Jena." Never did

the student forget the embarrassment of that moment

While a strong feeling of opposition against him was grow-
ing up in his own nation, a feeling which such works as the
Wanderjahre were not likely to mitigate, his fame began to
extend to Italy, England, and France- His active interest
in the important productions of foreign literature was recip-
rocated in the admiration expressed for him by men like
Manzoni, Scott, B3rron, Carlyle, Stapfer, Ampere, Soret, and
others. He had written of Manzoni's Carmagnola^ defending
it against adverse criticism, with a fervor which, according
to Manzoni, secured his reputation in Europe. " It is cer-
tain that I owe to Goethe's admiration all the prabe I have
received. I was very ill-treated until he so nobly defended
me, and since then I have not only seen public opinion
change, but I myself have learned to look at my productions
in a new light.** How profound was his admiration for Bjn-on,
and how flattered Byron was by it, is well known. The poem
he sent to Byron, in answer to the dedication of Werner^
reached him just as he was setting out on the expedition to
Greece.

Nor was his activity confined to reading. Oersted's mag-
nificent discovery of electro-magnetism awakened his keenest
interest. He made Dobereiner exhibit the phenomena,
and shortly afterwards had Oersted to visit him. D' Alton's
anatomical work on the Sloth and Megatherium found him as
ready as a young reviewer to proclaim its importance to the
world. He wrote also the account of his Campaign in
France ; the Annals of his Life ; Essays on Art ; smaller
poems; the epigrams, Zahme Xenien ; translated modem
Greek songs ; and sketched a restoration of the lost drama
Phaeton^ by Euripides.

1823] THE ACTIVITY OF AGE, 393

It is evident then that there was abundant life in the old
Jupiter, whose frame was still massive and erect; whose
brow had scarcely a wrinkle of old age ; whose head was
still as free from baldness as ever ; and whose large brown
eyes had still that flashing splendor which distinguished
them. Hufeland, the physician, who had made a special
study of the human organization with reference to its powers
of vitality, says, that never did he meet with a man in whom
bodily and mental organization were so perfect as in Goethe.

Not only life, but the life of life, the power of loving, was
still preserved to him. Quisquis amat, nulla est condiiione
seneXy says old Pontanus ; and the Marquis de Lassay prettily
makes the loss of love-dreams a sign of the last sleep :
" Hdas, quand on commence k ne plus rever, ou plutot k
r^ver moins, on est prbs de s'endormir pour toujours." In
the seventy-fourth year of his age, Goethe had still youth
enough to love. At Marienbad he met with a Fraulein von
Lewezow. A passion grew up between them, which, re-
turned on her side with almost equal vehemence, brought
back to him once more the exaltation of the Werther period.
It was thought he would marry her, and indeed he wished to
do so ; but the representations of his friends, and perhaps
the fear of ridicule, withheld hina. He tore himself away \
and the Marienbad Elegy, which he wrote in the carriage
as it whirled him away, remains as a token of the passion
and his suffering.

Nor does the Fraulein von Lewezow appear to have been
the only one captivated by the *' old man eloquent." Madame
Szymanowska, according to Zelter, was "madly in love" with
him ; and however figurative such a phrase may be, it indi-
cates, coming from so grave a man as Zelter, a warmth of
enthusiasm one does not expect to see excited by a man
of seventy-four.

17*

394 ^^^ STORY OF GOETHE^ S LIFE. [book vil

In the following year Germany showed her gratitude to
him by a privilege which in itself was the severest sarcasm on
German nationality, — the privilege, namely, of a protection
of his copyright He announced a complete editon of his
' works, and the ^i//i^/<7^ undertook to secure him from piracy
in German cities. Until that time his works had enriched
booksellers ; but this tardy privilege secured an inheritance
for his children.

Tn the way of honors, he was greatly flattered by the letter
which Walter Scott sent to him, in expression of an old
admiration ; and on the 28th of August, 1827, Karl August
came into his study, accompanied by the King of Bavaria,
who brought with him the Order of the Grand Cross as a
homage. In strict etiquette a subject was not allowed to
accept such an Order without his own sovereign's permission,
and Goethe, ever punctilious, turned to the Grand Duke,
saying, " If my gracious sovereign permits.** Upon which
the Duke called out, "Z>« alter Kerl! mache dock kein
dummes Zeug I Come, old fellow, no nonsense."

On the 6th of January, 1827, the Frau von Stein died, in
her eighty-fifth year. And now the good old Duke, whom he
affectionately styled his Waffenbruder^ — his brother in arms,
— was to be taken from him. On the 14th of June, 1828, he
was no more.

Knowing Goethe's love for the Duke, his friends entertained
great fears that the shock of this event would be terrible. He
was seated at dinner when the news arrived. It was whis-
pered from one to the other. At length it was gently broken
to him. They were breathless with suspense. But his face
remained quite calm, — a calmness which betrayed him. "Ah !
this is very sad," he sighed ; " let us change the subject."
He might banish the subject from conversation, he could not
banish it from his thoughts. It affected him deeply ; all the

183a] THE CLOSING SCENES. 3^5

more so, because he did not give expression to his grief.
^^ Nun ist alles vorhdl Nothing now remains," he said.
When Eckermann came in the evening, he found him utterly
prostrate.*

Retiring to the pleasant scenes of Dornburg, the old man
strove in work and in contemplation of nature to call away his
thoughts from his painful loss. The next year — 1829 —
he finished the Wanderjahre in the form it now assumes,
worked at the Second Part of Fausiy and in conjunction with
a young Frenchman, Soret, who was occupied in translating
the Metamorphoses of Plants , revised his scientific papers.

In February, 1830, the death of the Grand Duchess once
more overshadowed the evening of his life. These clouds
gathering so fast are significant warnings of the Night which
hurries on for him, — "the night in which no man can work " 1

CHAPTER VI.

THE CLOSING SCENES.

The spring of 1830 found Goethe in his eighty-first year,
busy with Faust, writing the preface to Carlyle's Life of

* The calmness with which he received the announcement recalls those
grand scenes in Marston's Malcontent and Ford*s Broken Hearty where
the subordination of emotion to the continuance of offices of politeness
rises into sublimity. Herodotus has touched the same chord in his nar-
rative of the terrific story of Thyestes {Clio^ 119). Harpagus, on discov- ,
ering that he has feasted on his own children in the banquet set before
him by Thyestes, remains quite calm. Shakespeare has expressed the
true philosophy of the matter in his usual pregnant language : —

" Give sorrow words : the grief that does not speak
Whispers the o'erfraught heart, and bids it break."

396 ^-^-^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE, [book vii.

Schiller^ and deeply interested in the great philosophical con-
test which was raging in Paris, between Cuvier and Geoffroy
St. Hilaire, on the question of Unity of Composition in the
Animal Kingdom. This question, one of the many important
and profound questions which are now agitated in Biology,
which lies, indeed, at the bottom of almost all speculations
on Development, had for very many years been answered by
Goethe in the spirit which he recognized in Geoffroy St
Hilaire ; and it was to him a matter of keen delight to
observe the world of science earnestly bent on a solution of
the question. The anecdote which M. Soret narrates in the
supplemental volume to Eckermann's conversations is very
characteristic.

" Monday, ist August, 1830. The news of the Revolution
of July reached Weimar to-day, and set every one in commo-
tion. I went in the course of the afternoon to Goethe.
* Now,' exclaimed he, as I entered, * what do you think of this
great event ? The volcano has come to an eruption ; every-
thing is in flames.' *A frightful story,' .1 answered; *but
what could be expected otherwise under such notoriously bad
circumstances and with such a ministry, than that the whole
would end in the expulsion of the royal family ? ' * We do not
appear to understand each other, my good friend,' said
Goethe ; * I am not speaking of those people, but of some-
thing quite different. I am speaking of the contest so impor-
tant for science between Cuvier and Geoffroy St Hilaire,
which has come to an open rupture in the Academy.' This
expression of Goethe's was so unexpected that I did not
know what to say, and for some minutes was perfectly at a
standstill. *The matter is of the highest importance,' he
continued ; * and you can form no conception of what I felt
at the intelligence of the skance of the 19th July. We have
»ow in Geoffroy a powerful and permanent ally. I see how

1830.] THE CLOSING SCENES. 397

great must be the interest of the French scientific world in
this affair; because, notwithstanding the terrible political
commotion, the skatue of the 19th July was very fully attended.
However, the best of it is that the synthetic manner of look-
ing at Nature, introduced by Geoffroy into France, cannot be
kept back any longer. From the present time Mind will rule
over Matter in the scientific investigations of the French.
There will be glances of the great maxims of creation, — of
the mysterious workshop of God ! Besides, what is all inter-
course with Nature, if we merely occupy ourselves with indi-
vidual material parts, and do not feel the breath of the spirit
which prescribes to every part its direction, and orders or
sanctions every deviation by means of an inherent law ! I
have exerted myself in this great question for fifty years. At
first I was alone, then I found support, and now at last to my
great joy I am surpassed by congenial minds.' "

Instead of exclaiming against the coldness of the man who
at such a moment could turn from politics to science, let us
glance at a somewhat parallel case. Englishmen will be slow
in throwing stones at the immortal Harvey ; let them hear
what Dr. Ent reports. Soon after the most agitating event
in English history, — the execution of Charles I., — Dr. Ent
called on Harvey, and found him seeking solace in anatomical
researches. " Did I not," said the great philosopher, " find a
balm for my spirit in the memory of my observations of
former years, I should feel litde desire for life. But so it has
been that this life of obscurity, this vacation from public
business, which causes tedium and disgust to so many, has
proved a sovereign remedy to me."

Goethe was not a politician, and he was a biologist. His
view of the superior importance of such an event as the dis-
cussion between Geoffroy and Cuvier, to the more noisy but
intrinsically less remarkable event, the Revolution of July, is

398 ^^^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book vii.

a view which will be accepted by some philosophers, and
rejected by all politicians. Goethe was not content with
expressing in conversation his sense of the importance of this
discussion ; he also commenced the writing of his celebrated
review of it, and 6nished the first part in September.

In November another great affliction smote him; it was
the last he had to bear : the news arrived that his only son,
who had a little while before gone to Italy in failing health,
had died in Rome on the 28th of October. The sorrowing
father strove, as usual, to master all expression of emotion,
and to banish it by restless work. But vain was the effort to
live down this climbing sorrow. The trial nearly cost him
his life. A violent hemorrhage in the lungs was the result
He was at one time given over ; but he rallied again, and set
once more to work, completing the Autobiography and con-
tinuing Faust

Ottilie von Goethe, the widow of his son, and his great
favorite, devoted herself to cheer his solitude. She read Plu-
tarch aloud to him ; and this, with Niebuhr's Roman History,
carried him amid the great pageantries of the past, where his
antique spirit could wander as among friends. Nor was the
present disregarded. He read with the eagerness of youth
whatever was produced by remarkable writers, such as B^ran-
ger, Victor Hugo, Delavigne, Scott, or Carlyle. He received
the homage of Europe ; his rooms were constantly brightened
by the presence of illustrious visitors, among whom the
English were always welcome.

Among the English who lived at Weimar during those days
was a youth whose name is now carried in triumph wherever
English Literature is cherished, — I allude to William Make-
peace Thackeray; and Weimar albums still display with
pride the caricatures which the young satirist sketched at that
period. He has kindly enabled me to enrich these pages

1830.] THE CLOSING SCENES, jgg

with a brief account of his reminiscences, gracefully sketched
in the following letter : —

"London, 28th April, 1855.

"Dear Lewes, — I wish I had more to tell you regarding
Weimar and Goethe. Five-and-twenty years ago, at least a score
of young English lads used to live at Weimar for study, or sport,
or society ; all of which were to be had in the friendly little Saxon
capital. The Grand Duke and Duchess received us with the
kindliest hospitality. The court was splendid, but yet most
pleasant and homely. We were invited in our turns to dinners,
balls, and assemblies there. Such young men as had a right,
appeared in uniforms, diplomatic and military. Some, I remem-
ber, invented gorgeous clothing : the kind old Hof Marschall of
those days, M. de Spiegel (who had two of the most lovely
daughters eyes ever looked on), being in nowise difficult as to the
admission of these young Englanders. Of the winter nights we
used to charter sedan chairs, in which we were carried through
the snow to those pleasant court entertainments. I for my part
had the good luck to purchase Schiller's sword, which formed a
part of my court costume, and still hangs in my study, and puts
me in mind of days of youth, the most kindly and delightful.

" We knew the whole society of the little city, and but that the
young ladies, one and all, spoke admirable English, we surely
might have learned the very best German. The society met
constantly. The ladies of the court had their evenings. The
theatre was open twice or thrice in the week, where we assem-
bled, a large family party. Goethe had retired from the direction,
but the great traditions remained still. The theatre was
admirably conducted; and besides the excellent Weimar com-
pany, famous actors and singers from various parts of Germany
performed Gastrolle* through the winter. In that winter I
remember we had Ludwig Devrient in Shylock, Hamlet, Fal&tafF,
and the Robbers j and the beautiful Schroder in Fidelio,

" After three-and-twenty years' absence, I passed a couple of
summer days in the well-remembered place, and was fortunate

* What in England are called "starring engagements."

400 THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book vii.

enough to find some of the friends of my youth. Madame de
Goethe was there, and received me and my daughters with the
kindness of old days. We drank tea in the open air, at the
famous cottage in the park,* which still belongs to the family,
and had been so often inhabited by her illustrious father.

** In 1 83 1, though he had retired from the world, Goethe would
nevertheless very kindly receive strangers. His daughter-in-law's
tea-table was always spread for us. We passed hours after
hours there, and night after night with the pleasantest talk and
music. We read over endless novels and poems in French,
English, and German. My delight in those days was to make
caricatures for children. I was touched to find that they were
remembered, and some even kept until the present time ; and
very proud to be told, as a lad, that the great Goethe had looked
at some of them.

** He remained in his private apartments, where only a very few
privileged persons were admitted ; but he liked to know all that
was happening, and interested himself about all strangers.
Whenever a countenance struck his fancy, there was an artist
settled in Weimar who made a portrait of it Goethe had quite a
gallery of heads, in black and white, taken by this painter. His
house was all over pictures, drawings, casts, statues, and medals.
" Of course I remember very well the perturbation of spirit with
which, as a lad of nineteen, I received the long-expected intima-
tion that the Herr Geheimerath would see me on such a morning.
This notable audience took place in a little antechamber of his
private apartments, covered all round with antique casts and
bas-reliefs. He was habited in a long gray or drab redingot,
with a white neckcloth and a red ribbon in his buttonhole. He
kept his hands behind his back, just as in Ranch's statuette.
His complexion was very bright, clear, and rosy. His eyes ex-
traordinarily dark,t piercing, and brilliant. I felt quite afraid
before them, and recollect comparing them to the eyes of the

* The Garienkaus,

t This must have been the effect of the position in which he sat with
regard to the light. Goethe's eyes were dark brown, but not very dark.

i83o.| THE CLOSING SCENES, 40I

hero of a certain romance called Melmoth the Wanderer^ which
used to alarm us boys thirty years ago ; eyes of an individual who
had made a bargain with a Certain Person, and at an extreme old
age retained these eyes in all their awful splendor. I fancied
Goethe must have been still more handsome as an old man than
even in the days of his youth. His voice was very rich and sweet.
He asked me questions about myself, which I answered as best
I could. I recollect I was at first astonished, and then some-
what relieved, when I found he spoke French with not a good
accent.

" Vidi ianium, I saw him but three times. Once walking in
the garden of his house in the Frauenpian; once going to step
into his chariot on a sunshiny day, wearing a cap and a cloak
with a red collar. He was caressing at the time a beautiful little
golden-haired granddaughter, over whose sweet fair face the earth
has long since closed too.

'' Any of us who had books or magazines from England sent
them to him, and he examined them eagerly. Fraser's Magauine
had lately come out, and I remember he was interested in those
admirable outline portraits which appeared for a while in its pages.
But there was one, a very ghastly caricature of Mr. Rogers, which,
as Madame de Goethe told me, he shut up and put away from
him angrily. *They would make me look like that,' he said;
though in truth I can fancy nothing more serene, majestic, and
healthy looking than the grand old Goethe.

" Though his sun was setting, the sky round about was calm
and bright, and that little Weimar illumined by it. In every one
of those kind salons the talk was still of art and letters. The
theatre, though possessing no very extraordinary actors, was still
conducted with a noble intelligence and order. The actors read
books, and were men of letters and gentlemen, holding a not
unkindly relationship with the AdeL At court the conversation
was exceedingly friendly, simple, and polished. The Grand
Duchess [the present Grand Duchess Dowager], a lady of very
remarkable endowments, would kindly borrow our books from us,
lend us her own, and graciously talk to us young men about our

z

402 THE STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE, [book vii.

literary tastes and pursuits. In the respect paid by this court to
the Patriarch of letters, there was something ennobling, I think,
alike to the subject and sovereign. With a five-and-twenty years'
experience since those happy days of which I write, and an
acquaintance with an immense variety of human kind, I think
I have never seen a society more simple, charitable, courteous,
gentlemanlike than that of the dear little Saxon city, where the
good Schiller and the great Goethe lived and lie buried.
** Very sincerely yours,

" W. M. Thackeray."

His last secretary, Krauter, who never speaks of him but
with idolatry, describes his activity even at this advanced age
as something prodigious. It was moreover systematic A
certain time of the day was devoted to his correspondence ;
then came the arrangement of his papers, or the completion
of works long commenced. One fine spring morning, Krauter
tells me, Goethe said to him, " Come, we will cease dictation;
it is a pity such fine weather should not be enjoyed ; let us
go into the park and do a bit of work there." Krauter took
the necessary books and papers, and followed his master,
who, in his long blue overcoat, a blue cap on his head, and
his hands in the customary attitude behind his back, marched
on, upright and imposing. Those who remember Ranch s
statuette will picture to themselves the figure of the old man
in his ordinary attitude ; but perhaps they cannot fiilly picture
to themselves the imposing efiect of that Jupiter-head which,
on this occasion, arrested an old peasant, and so absorbed
him, that leaning his hands upon his rake, and resting his
chin upon his hands, he. gazed on the spectacle in forgetfiil-
ness so complete that he did not move out of the way, but
stood gazing immovable, while Krauter had to step aside to
pass.

It is usually said, indeed, that Goethe showed no signs of
age ; but this is one of the exaggerations which the laxity of

1830.] THE CLOSING SCENES. 403

ordinary speech permits itselfl His intellect preserved a
wonderful clearness and activity, as we know ; and, indeed,
the man who wrote the essay on Cuvier and GeofFroy's dis-
cussion, and who completed the Faust in his eighty-second
year, may fairly claim a place among the Nestors for whom

remains

" Some work of noble note,
Not unbecoming men who strove with gods."

But the biographer is bound to record that in his intellect, as
in his body, the old man showed unmistakably that he was
old. His hearing became noticeably impaired ; his memory
of recent occurrences was extremely treacherous ; but his
eyesight remained strong, and his appetite good. In the
later years of his life he presented a striking contrast to the
earUer years in his preference for close rooms. The heated
and impure atmosphere of an unventilated room was to him
so agreeable that it was difficult to persuade him to have a
window open for the purpose of ventilation. Always disliking
the cold, and longing for warmth like a child of the South, he
sat in rooms so heated that he was constantly taking cold.
This did not prevent his enjoyment of the fresh air when he
was in the country. The mountain air of Ilmenau, especially,
seemed to give him health and enjoyment. It was to Ilmenau
he went to escape from the festivities preparing for his last
birthday. He ascended the lovely heights of the Gickelhahn,
and went into the wood hut where so many happy days had
been spent with Karl August. There he saw on the wall
those lines he had years before written in pencil, —

" Ueber alien Gipfeln
1st Ruh,
In alien Wipfeln
Spiirest du
Kaum einen Hauch ;

404 ^^^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE, [book vil

Die Vogelein schweigen im Walde.
Warte nur, balde
Ruhest du auch."

And wiping the tears from his eyes, — tears which rose at the
memory of Karl August, Charlotte von Stein, and his own
happy youth, — he repeated the last line, " ya^ warte nur^
balde ruhest du auch. — Yes, wait but a little, soon wilt thou
too be at rest"

That rest was nearer than any one expected. On the
1 6th of March following, his grandson, Wolfgang, coming
into his room as usual to breakfast with him, found him still
in bed. The day before, in passing from his heated room
across the garden, he had taken cold. The physician, on
arriving, found him very feverish, with what is known in
Weimar as the " nervous fever," which acts almost like a
pestilence. With the aid of remedies, however, he rallied
towards evening, and became talkative and jocose. On the
17th he was so much better that he dictated a long letter to
W. von Humboldt. All thought of danger ceased. But
during the night of the 19th, having gone off into a soft
sleep, he awoke about midnight, with hands and feet icy
cold, and fierce pain and oppression of the chest He would
not have the physician disturbed, however, for he said there
was no danger, only pain. But when the physician came in
the morning, he found that a fearful change had taken place.
His teeth chattered with the cold. The pain in his chest
made him groan, and sometimes call out aloud. He could
not rest in one place, but tossed about in bed, seeking in
vain a more endurable position. His face was ashen gray ;
the eyes, deep sunk in the sockets, were dull, and the glance
was that of one conscious of the presence of death. After
a time these fearful symptoms were allayed, and he was
removed from his bed into the easy-chair, which stood at

1830.} THE CLOSING SCENES. 405

his bedside. There, towards evening, he was once more
restored to perfect calmness, and spoke with clearness and
interest of ordinary matters ; especially pleased he was to
hear that his appeal for a young artist, a proUgk^ had been
successful ; and with a trembling hand he signed an official
paper which secured a pension to another artist, a young
Weimar lady, for whom he had interested himself.

On the following day, the approach of death was evident.
The painful symptoms were gone. But his senses began to
fail him, and he had moments of unconsciousness. He sat
quiet in the chair, spoke kindly to those around him, and
made his servant bring Salvandy's Seize Mots, ou la Rkvolu-
Hon et les Rkvolutionnaires^ which he had been reading when
he fell ill ; but after turning over the leaves, he laid it down,
feeling himself too ill to read. He bade them bring him the
list of all the persons who had called to inquire after his
health, and remarked that such evidence of sympathy was
not to be forgotten when he recovered. He sent every one
to bed that night, except his copyist. He would not even
allow his old servant to sit up with him, but insisted on his
lying down to get the rest he so much needed.

The following morning — it was the 22d March, 1832 —
he tried to walk a little up and down the room, but, after a
turn, he found himself too feeble to continue. Reseating
himself in the easy-chair, he chatted cheerfully with Ottilie
on the approaching spring, which would be sure to restore
him. He had no idea of his end being so near.

The name of Ottilie was frequently on his lips. She sat
beside him, holding his hand in both of hers. It was now
observed that his thoughts began to wander incoherently.
"See," he exclaimed, "the lovely woman's head — with
black curls — in splendid colors — a dark background ! "
Presently, he saw a piece of paper on the floor, and asked

4o6 ^^^ STORY OF GOETHE'S LIFE. [book vii.

them how they could leave Schiller's letters so carelessly
lying about. Then he slept softly, and, on awakening, asked
for the sketches he had just seen. These were the sketches
seen in a dream. In silent anguish the close now so surely
approaching was awaited. His speech was becoming less
and less distinct. The last words audible were, ^^ More
light!** The final Darkness grew apace, and he whose
eternal longings had been for more Light gave a parting cry
for it, as he was passing under the shadow of Death.

He continued to express himself by signs, drawing letters
with his forefinger in the air, while he had strength, and
finally, as life ebbed, drawing figures slowly on the shawl
which covered his legs. At half past twelve he composed
himself in the corner of the chair. The watcher placed a
finger on her lip to intimate that he was asleep. If sleep it
was, it was a sleep in which a great life glided firom the
world.

THE END*

11

Hill ElAU T

I